Warnings: angst, mentions of divorce, mentions of cheating. if ive missed anything please let me know!
A/N: two years later and im backkkkkk. she's back to finish what she started 🤓 this took me way too long, and also makes me sad that it's finally finished.
just wanted to give a shoutout to my bestie while im here because we actually met because she stumbled across my shitty little blog a few years ago, shes consistently gone on at me for years about finishing this series and i probs wouldnt have finished it if it wasn't for her 🥲
also this gif felt relevevant as we lay papers to rest with a "night night" 🤍
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Considering you’d found out you was pregnant three months into the pregnancy, the time flew quickly. Baby girl Evans was due 13th June, but decided she didn’t want to share a birthday with her daddy.
At 5:15am on Saturday 9th June, Penelope Evans decided to make an appearance. Unfortunately for you, this was the weekend that Chris made a short trip back to Boston to have some well-earned birthday celebrations with his family. You’d decided that for multiple reasons, including being close to your own family, that you wanted to spend the rest of your pregnancy in London so returning to your family home in Boston wasn’t an option.
Chris missed the entire birth of his second child, the event being unknown to him as his phone had died early on during his night out with old friends. Baby Penny was over twelve hours old when Chris finally received the news of his newborn child. A baby girl. News that brought the man to tears; he loved being a girl dad.
But that was just over a month ago, baby Penny was quickly approaching seven weeks old. And Chris had spent every waking moment with both his young daughters. Summer was rolling in and Olivia had just finished her last week at school in London. It was two weeks until you packed up and once again moved your little family of four back to the USA. You’d made an agreement with Chris that your London apartment wasn’t to be sold and would instead be used by your family on your regularly planned visits. This luckily meant for you that there wasn’t much packing that needed to be done, only the essentials you’d need when you returned to your family home. You’d forever be grateful that you didn’t need to pack up the whole apartment with two little ones in tow.
Penelope Evans was your perfect little secret for the first 5 weeks of her life, allowing yourself time to settle in being a parent of two. Being cooped up in your apartment from the day Penny was brought home from the hospital, both Chris and your parents taking it in turns to do the school run for Olivia. Of course, the rumour that Baby Evans was born spread when you weren’t spotted in public for weeks, but you were in your perfect newborn bubble. But you wanted to be present for Olivia’s last days in British school, so you made the effort to leave the house and walk the youngster to school every morning and watch her skip alongside her baby sister's buggy.
It was 9pm, the evenings being the main time you got some silence in the little London apartment. Chris was perched on your shared bed, scrolling through his phone and replying to emails. You were sat on the carpeted floor, one leg outstretched and gently rocking the moses basket with your foot while you packed some of your newborn's clothes into one of the few suitcases dotted around the room. Both your daughters fast asleep in their respective beds.
Your phone vibrated on the carpet next to you, ignoring it as you expected it to be Chris sending you something he’d seen on Instagram. You hummed quietly to yourself as you carefully folded clothes and placed them inside the case, your foot still gently rocking the moses basket. It wasn’t until your phone vibrated another two times that you curiously peeked down at the screen; your eyebrows furrowed as you noticed multiple Facebook messages from an old friend of yours that you’d not spoken to in years.
I’m so sorry but I thought you should see this. One of the messages read, follow by a Sent a Photo and a link. You tilted your head in curiosity as you opened the messages, the link and screenshotted news article headline referencing the birth of your child and Chris’s whereabouts at the time.
It wasn’t until you read further into the article that silence fell over the room, your humming coming to a sudden halt and your foot stopped pressing against the bassinet. Evans night out during birth of second child. Underneath the headline a picture of the alleged ‘Sarah’ from the previous cheating rumours that almost ruined your marriage a year ago. Chris had his arm wrapped around her shoulder as they sat in a booth in the corner of what seemed like a club, both leaning in closely and talking quietly amongst themselves.
Recent discoveries show that Evans’ second child, a baby girl, was born on Sunday 9th June in the early hours of the morning. During this time Evans’ was in Boston on a night out with friends celebrating his approaching birthday, understood to also be his child’s due date. Evans has two children with his British wife. Rumours spread last summer of acts of infidelity within the marriage, however this did not seem to break the couple as they reunited and introduced their second child.
Updates as they come. The article stated.
You were speechless at the article, unsure how to process it as you placed your phone back on the carpet and focused back onto packing the suitcase in front of you. Was that even Chris in the photo? It was slightly blurry, and of course the club was dark. But you could pick Chris out of a crowd in an instant, and that certainly looked like the woman from previous photos.
“You okay?” Chris questioned, peeking over his phone to look down at you.
“Mhm.” You mumbled in response, a sigh leaving your lips as you picked up one of your favourite newborn onesies. Penny had grown out of it at this point, but you wouldn’t dispose of it; the onesie was Penelope’s first outfit, her coming home outfit. The same onesie that Olivia wore home when she returned from hospital. The neutral onesie with little Winnie The Pooh drawings printed across it. It almost made you cry at the thought of the perfect little family you once had, and could have continued to have.
You closed your eyes and brought the onesie to your nose, taking a deep breath as you took in the scent of the laundry detergent you often used on your children's clothes, the milky honey scent filling your nostrils comforted you.
Your phone vibrated next to you again, you’d turned on notifications for updates to the article. You were unsure if you wanted to return to read the update, a knot formed in your stomach and you began to fill sick. You laid the onesie on your lap as you reached again for your phone, following your gut feeling and reopening the article.
UPDATE
Recent investigations show the woman believed to be Sarah Jenkins, a 35-year-old from Atlanta. This is the second time she has publicly been spotted with actor Chris Evans. Sarah, who is public on most social media accounts, has a one-year-old child with an unknown father. Sources believe that Evans could be the father of the child.
“Hey, what’s up?” Chris questioned, worry filling his face as he moved to sit next to you on the floor as he watched your face completely drain of all colour.
“I’m going to be sick.” You mumbled, quickly pushing yourself to your feet and away from Chris. You almost tripped over the suitcase and other items scattered across the floor as you made a beeline for the bathroom, dropping to your knees as you leaned over the porcelain toilet and threw up the contents of your stomach.
“Hey. It’s okay.” Chris followed you, kneeling down to hold your hair out your face and rub your back.
“Get away from me!” You almost shouted, tears beginning to fill your eyes as you withdraw from any contact from the man. “How could you?!” You cried.
“What?!” Chris questioned; his brows furrowed as he stared at you in shock.
Oh boy was he a good actor.
“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me again!” You bit back with gritted teeth. “How could you do that to me?! How could you do that to our poor innocent Olivia?!” The sadness fell over your eyes, the tears falling down your cheeks at the thought of your two precious girls who got hurt in the process. How as you going to explain this to them? How was you going to tell Olivia that her daddy was the reason the family fell apart?
“How could you?!” You repeated again, a sob getting caught in your throat. “How could you cheat?! How could you have a child with another woman and simply act like its nothing?!” A loud wail tumbled from your lips as you pulled yourself back to the toilet and vomited some more.
“I’m sorry.” Chris accepted defeat. That was all the conformation you needed. He should have known that after some time the news would come out.
“You’re sorry?!” You looked at him in complete shock, bringing the back of your hand up to wipe at your mouth. “You think that's going to take all this away?” You truly were stunned that he was acting like this wasn’t as large a crime as it was.
“His name is Theodore. Theo.” He mumbled, pushing himself to his feet as the tears started to fill in his eyes. The realisation was beginning to hit of what he’d done. How much he’d hurt his wife, and would shortly hurt his two precious daughters too. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“You didn’t mean for this to happen?!” Your voice raised in complete disbelief at his words. “You didn’t mean to spend time with another woman? Didn’t mean to fall into bed with her? Didn’t mean to have a child with her? Didn’t mean to continue seeing her, even when the child wasn’t present. You lied to me! You lied and then played me into thinking everything was okay, we had another child!” You screamed, it was all beginning to boil over and push you to the edge.
Multiple instances flashed through your mind; like Christmas, Chris had no work on the lead up to Christmas, but yet he couldn’t be in London until the twenty third of December. He claimed he had commitments to his family. He missed the birth of your child for a night out on his birthday, yet the only photo you’ve seen from the night is the previously posted photo with ‘Sarah’. He missed out on time with yourself, and your growing family, major events like the birth of his second, well technically third, child. You weren’t as big a priority as it was made out to be.
A loud screaming cry came from your bedroom, your almost two-month-old child awakening due to the loud noises flowing through the apartment.
“Get out.” You bit through gritted teeth, pushing yourself to your feet as you prioritised getting to your small baby girl crying out in need. You cradled her in your arms, cuddling her close as you tried to compose yourself, holding the little baby so tight as you rocked her back and forth but her crying wouldn’t stop.
“Get away from me.” You almost growled at Chris as he approached you in the bedroom, your hold becoming more protective of your sweet innocent child.
“Please, let me explain.” Chris tried to speak over the sound of the screaming baby which you continued to rock.
“Explain what, Chris?!” You turned to look at him, tears streaming down your face which matched the face of the distraught newborn. “There is nothing to explain.” You were starting to get overwhelmed with the situation, the screaming of the baby, the cheating man stood in front of you trying to talk his way out of his sins.
“Mummy?” A little voice spoke from the door. “Daddy?” The small child stood at the door, her fists rubbing at her tired eyes and chubby cheeks. “Is Penny okay? Mummy, are you okay?” she questioned, unsure what all the noise was about. Her tired eyes adjusted as she looked between you and her father, the upset visible on both your faces as well as her newborn sister.
“Penny’s okay, princess.” Chris spoke up, turning to speak properly to his eldest daughter. He couldn’t comment on how you felt, and he didn’t want to lie to his daughter again. “Mummys got her. Let's get you back to bed.” He hummed, leading the little girl out of the room as he tried to compose himself. In that moment, you had to admit you was grateful for Chris stepping up for his eldest child.
A few moments passed until you heard Olivia’s bedroom door closing, you’d managed to compose yourself to a certain extent but also calm Penelope down enough that she’d fallen back to sleep and was once again nestled in her basket.
“I want you gone. You can collect your things during the week, my parents will be here to deal with it. You won’t see the girls. We’re not coming back to Boston.” You rambled out the words that you’d been planning in your head.
“Babe, please!” He tried to beg, stepping closer to where you were perched on the edge of the bed and looking down at the newborn in her basket.
“Don’t call me babe. You won’t see the girls until a plan has been made. You’ll leave tonight.” You sighed, defeated.
“My solicitor will be in contact to get the papers signed.”
thank you again for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!!
SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.
A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.
As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.
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The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.
Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”
He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”
Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.
“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.
“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”
Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.
With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”
Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”
You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”
Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”
“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”
“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”
You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”
You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.
“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”
He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”
You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”
He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”
You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”
“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”
“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”
Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.
Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.
“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”
“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”
He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.
You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”
“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”
You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”
Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.
“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”
You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.
The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.
The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.
“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”
“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.
“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.
“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.
You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”
For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”
He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”
You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.
“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.
Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”
Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.
Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?
You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.
“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.
Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.
“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”
You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”
The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”
You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”
You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.
The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”
You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”
“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”
“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.
With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.
You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.
“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.
You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”
The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”
“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”
After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.
You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.
The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.
With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.
But it didn’t.
The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.
Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.
“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”
“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.
The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.
“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.
“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”
You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.
As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.
“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper.
After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.
Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”
You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.
“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.
Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.
“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”
You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.
Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.
Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.
As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.
Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.
You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.
The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.
“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”
You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady.
The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.
Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.
"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."
You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.
He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.
You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.
The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.
"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.
"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."
For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.
As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.
You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.
“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”
Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.
The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.
“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.
You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”
He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”
With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.
The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.
“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.
Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.
When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.
He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”
You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”
He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”
Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.
“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.
Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.
You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”
“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.
The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.
In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.
You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening.
“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.
He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”
The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”
The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.
“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.
You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”
With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.
The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.
Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”
You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”
Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.
“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”
Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”
You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”
Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”
“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.
The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.
Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”
You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”
“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.
As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.
“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.
“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”
The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.
When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”
You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”
“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”
The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.
The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.
Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.
You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.
“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.
As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer.
The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy.
You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.
The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”
The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.
He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.
Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”
You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.
Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued.
When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”
You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”
By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease.
As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.
“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.
The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.
Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget.
But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.
You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.
After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”
You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”
“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”
The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.
The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.
You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”
Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”
When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”
The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.
His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations.
His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”
“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.
You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug.
“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”
“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”
Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.
“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”
Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.
“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”
“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”
Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”
“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.
“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.
You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”
She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”
Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”
“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”
You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter.
You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”
Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning.
“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.
She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”
“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”
Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”
You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.
Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.
You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.
Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.
“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.
Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.
“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”
You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.
She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.
“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”
Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention.
“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”
Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”
You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.
“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.
“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”
“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”
You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.
“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.
The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.
“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.
You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.
His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.
“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.
“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”
You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.
“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”
“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.
You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you.
“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”
“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.
But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him.
“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”
“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.
“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.
You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”
Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.
For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.
As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.
You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.
“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.
“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.
You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.
He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.
Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.
Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.
The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.
But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.
“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.
You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.
Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.
Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.
“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”
You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”
“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.
She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.
“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”
You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.
“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.
You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.
“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.
You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”
“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”
Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.
Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”
And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.
You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.
You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?
But then again…
You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.
Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?
The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.
“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”
You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”
He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”
You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”
“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”
Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”
“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”
“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”
Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.
“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”
The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.
You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.
He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.
Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.
Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.
You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.
The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.
Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”
The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”
His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”
Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.
You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.
You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.
“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”
Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you.
“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.
“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”
His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”
You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.
For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.
Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”
You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.
"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."
His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.
Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.
"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”
As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.
You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.
SUMMARY: You and Glen spend a cozy weekend together at a cozy mountain where you get the rare chance to slow down and reconnect. With nothing but each other, Glen's dog Brisktet, and the warmth of the fire to keep you company, the weekend becomes a beautiful escape from the world.
A/N: This is the first of a few holiday fics that I have planned or in the works! Please let me know what you guys think with hearts, reblogs, and comments! I love getting feedback from you guys!
WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.
WORD COUNT: 5.6k
TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS
If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.
Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played
Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi
Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob
Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)
Snowflakes swirl in the crisp mountain air as your car crunches up the gravel driveway to the cabin Glen has rented for the weekend. You barely have time to put the car in park before the front door creaks open, and Glen steps outside, a grin stretching across his face. Brisket bounds down the steps, tail wagging furiously as he makes a beeline for you.
“Brisket!” You laugh, bending down just as he leaps up, his paws landing on your thighs. His warm tongue darts out to give your cheeks a wet greeting, and you scratch behind his ears with both hands, his soft fur a welcome comfort against the chilly air.
Behind him, Glen strolls towards you. He’s got a hoodie on that’s slightly wrinkled, and his jeans hang just right, as the little bits of snow catch in his slightly messy hair. His smile widens as you stand up and he pulls you into a tight bear hug, lifting you off the ground just enough to make you laugh.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and full of emotion.
You start to answer as Glen sets you back down, but Brisket, not one to be ignored, nudges his way between the two of you, his wet nose pressing insistently against your hand as he stands on his back legs to reach.
Glen chuckles, leaning down and scratching Brisket behind the ears. “Okay, okay, but I get her first, bud.” His voice is playful, but there’s an undertone of something else–longing maybe, that makes your heart flutter.
He looks down at you and leans in, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, as if savoring the moment. The kiss deepens, and you feel the tension of the past month and a half melting away. Being apart for so long while he was filming in London had left an ache you didn’t realize was so deep until now.
Brisket’s sharp bark cuts through the moment, his impatience impossible to ignore. Glen pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he laughs, his breath warm against your skin.
“Guess someone’s feeling left out,” he says with a smirk, stepping back and gesturing toward Brisket, who’s now wagging his tail so hard his entire body wiggles. “Better give him some love before he starts a full-on protest.”
You kneel back down to give Brisket the attention he’s clearly been craving, rubbing his belly as he flops onto his back.
Meanwhile, Glen moves to the back of your car, popping the trunk to grab your bags. He pauses, eyebrows lifting as he surveys the number of bags you brought. “You know we’re only here for two days, right?” He teases, pulling out your suitcase and then throwing your weekender bag over his shoulder.
You stand, brushing snow off your knees, and flash him a mock glare. “I like to be prepared!”
“For what? A week-long expedition?” he jokes, slinging one bag over his shoulder while hoisting the other in his hand.
“Very funny,” you retort, walking over to him to try to take the smaller bag from him. “I wasn’t sure what the plan was or if we’d be doing anything fancy. So I brought different outfits just in case.”
“Fancy?” Glen repeats, looking around dramatically as if searching for a five-star restaurant in the middle of the mountains. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s nothing fancy out here.”
You laugh, swatting his arm as he leads the way up the cabin steps, Brisket bounding ahead to push the door open with his nose. Warmth immediately greets you as you step inside, the crackling of the fire warming the space. The smell of cedar and something faintly sweet lingers in the air, and you sigh, already feeling relaxed.
Glen sets your bags down by the couch, turning to you with that signature mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Welcome to our little getaway. Now are you ready to relax and let me spoil you for the next two days?”
You grin, taking in the cozy space–the twinkling string lights, the oversized plaid blankets draped across the couch, and the promise of uninterrupted time with Glen. “Only if you let me spoil you right back.”
“Deal,” he says, leaning in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go.
The moment stretches between you, the cabin’s cozy warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Glen doesn’t let go, his hands resting gently on your waist as he looks down at you. You feel the world outside fade into nothingness–no schedules, no interviews, no appearances, no planes to catch, no distance between you.
He breaks the silence with a quiet chuckle, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. “Come on,” he says, his voice a low murmur as he gently takes your hand. “Let’s get comfortable.”
You let him guide you to the couch, his hand warm and steady in yours. The cushions are soft, layered with thick plaid blankets and pillows that practically beg you to sink into them. Glen sits down first, leaning back and looking completely at ease in the glow of the firelight.
Then, with a playful tug of your hand, he pulls you down with him, his arms encircling you like they were always meant to.
“Much better,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nestle against him, his hoodie soft beneath your cheek and his heartbeat steady against your ear. One hand rubs soothing circles on your back, while the other tangles gently in your hair, his fingers trailing through the strands as though he’s memorizing every detail of you all over again.
The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its golden glow casting flickering patterns across the walls. Outside, the snow continues to fall, silent and relentless, blanketing the world in quiet serenity. The warmth of the fire contrasts with the chill you’d felt stepping out of the car moments earlier, making you sink deeper into Glen’s embrace.
The smell of pine lingers faintly in the room, mingling with the faint musk of Glen’s cologne—a scent you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much until now. It’s grounding, familiar, and comforting, pulling you even further into this moment.
He shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek there. “I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been counting down the days.”
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. “Me too,” you admit softly. “It’s been too long.”
He smiles, a small, private thing meant just for you. “Well,” he says, tightening his arms around you, “we’ve got a lot of time to make up for, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second of it.”
You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the sound of the fire, and the stillness of the moment. For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can finally breathe again.
“So,” you say, breaking the quiet with a soft nudge. “Tell me everything about London. How’s filming going?”
Glen exhales, his smile lighting up as he starts to talk. “It’s been amazing, honestly. The city, the crew, the whole experience–it’s been one of the best projects I’ve worked on in awhile. The story’s incredible, and I can’t wait for you to see it. I think you’re going to love it.”
“I bet I will,” you say, looking up at him. “I’m always proud of you, Glen, but I love seeing how excited you are about this one.”
He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “It’s good, but man, it’s been a grind. Long days, a lot of pressure, you know? But that’s just part of it.”
“I’m sure it will all be worth it,” you reply, your voice full of conviction. “You always give it your all, and it shows.”
The conversation shifts naturally, and soon, he’s asking about you–how life’s been while he’s been away. You fill him in on the little things: the funny story about your new neighbor, a new hobby you’ve been trying, and how work has been busier than usual.
“And,” you add, a touch of pride in your voice, “I got that promotion I was telling you about.”
His face lights up, his grin wide and genuine. “Babe, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you lead with that?”
You laugh, shrugging. “I guess I wanted to hear about London first. But yeah, it’s a lot more responsibility, which is a little scary, but exciting too.”
“You’re going to crush it. I know you will,” he says. He pulls you closer, kissing the side of your head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
The conversation drifts back and forth, light and easy, until Glen’s tone shifts ever so slightly. He leans his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m always…on,” he admits quietly. “Like, I have to be the fun guy, the charming guy, the one who’s always ready to take a picture, sign something, or do an interview. It’s not that I don’t love what I do, because I do. But…sometimes it’s a lot, you know?”
You sit up a little, turning to look at him. “Glen-”
He shakes his head, offering you a small smile. “Being with you, though–it’s different. I don’t have to be anyone but me. You make it easy to just…breathe. I can just be me.”
The honesty in his words tugs at something inside you, and you find yourself confessing things you’ve kept tucked away.
“I get that,” you say softly. “I mean, not the same way you do, but…sometimes I feel like I’m not enough, being with someone like you. Like, I see how the world sees you, and I can’t help but wonder if when we do start telling people about us if I’ll be able to measure up to all that.”
His brows knit together, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
“Hey,” he says gently, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be anything other than you for me to love you. Do you know that?”
You nod, your throat tight with emotion.
“I mean it,” he continues, his voice steady. “You’re the person I want to come back to, the one who makes all the noise in my head fade. I don’t care about anything else as long as I have you.”
Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away as his thumb catches one that escapes. The moment lingers, until he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss is slow and lingering, a quiet reassurance in the way his hand stays on your cheek, grounding you.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and the softest smile plays on his lips. “You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “Don’t ever forget that.”
You nod again, unable to find the words, and instead, you kiss him, pouring everything you feel into that single, tender moment. The world outside fades again, leaving only the warmth of the fire and the steady presence of the mean holding you like you’re the only thing that matters.
Glen's laughter fills the room as your stomach lets out an unmistakable growl. He presses a playful kiss to your temple before standing and stretching. “Alright, let’s fix that. I can’t have you starving on my watch.”
You smile as he heads into the small kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and pans clinking filling the cozy cabin.
You follow him, leaning against the doorway. “You’ve been working nonstop for weeks. Maybe I should cook for you for a change.”
Glen turns around, eyebrow raised. “You? Cook for me? You’re supposed to be relaxing this weekend, baby.”
“And you’re supposed to be relaxing too, Mr. Leading Man,” you counter, stepping into the kitchen and gently nudging him aside. “Come on, let me spoil you a little.”
He folds his arms, giving you an exaggerated skeptical look. “Spoil me, huh? You sure I’ll be okay eating your cooking?”
“Oh, hush,” you say, laughing. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding us. And besides, who says we can’t cook together?”
Glen’s grin softens into something warmer. “Alright,” he concedes, holding up his hands in surrender. “Cooking together it is. But I’m in charge of the playlist.”
“Deal,” you say, grabbing an apron from a hook on the wall.
As Glen connects his phone to the cabin’s Bluetooth speaker, the kitchen fills with the smooth croon of a soulful Christmas song. You both fall into a natural rhythm, chopping vegetables and seasoning ingredients while the cozy warmth of the cabin wraps around you.
At one point, you can’t resist sneaking a spoonful of sauce to taste. Glen catches you mid-act, his hand resting on his hip.
“You’re gonna eat half of this before it even makes it to the plate,” Glen teases.
You grin, shrugging as you savor the taste. “Quality control. Someone has to make sure it’s good.”
“It’s unhygienic,” he chides, though the twinkle in his eye betrays him.
“Oh, please,” you shoot back, leaning against the counter with a grin. “I’m not too worried about spreading germs with you. Not after the way we kiss.”
Glen laughs, shaking his head as he stirs the sauce. “Fair point,” he concedes, his lips quirking into a smile.
The kitchen is cozy but compact, and as you move around, you inevitably bump into each other. One such moment has you accidentally backing into Glen while reaching for a spice jar. His hands instinctively catch your waist to steady you.
“Careful,” he says softly, his voice laced with amusement. His hands linger, warm and steady, as his gaze flicks down to meet yours.
“Sorry,” you murmur, your cheeks flushing as the moment stretches just a second longer than expected.
He grins, his thumbs brushing gently against your sides before letting go. “I don’t mind,” he says, his tone low and teasing.
You clear your throat, trying to shake off the butterflies suddenly fluttering in your stomach and turn back to the counter.
By the time dinner is ready, the cabin smells like garlic, tomatoes, and the faint sweetness of basil. Glen sets the table while you plate the food, and when you both sit down to eat, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Dinner passes in a warm haze of laughter and conversation. You and Glen share stories, the clink of silverware against plates blending with the crackle of the fire. The pasta you made together turns out delicious—though Glen insists it’s because of his sauce, and you playfully argue that your perfectly chopped vegetables were the real hero. Brisket stays close, hoping for scraps, and earns a bite of garlic-free bread when Glen gives in to his pleading eyes.
After clearing the table and stacking dishes in the sink—"They can wait until tomorrow," Glen declares—you both migrate to the couch. Glen pulls a blanket off the armrest and drapes it over you as you settle in with mugs of hot cocoa, the sweetness of marshmallows melting into the creamy warmth. Brisket curls up at your feet, his soft snores the only sound aside from the faint hiss of wind outside.
Glen leans back, stretching an arm across the back of the couch as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hey, would you mind if I looked over a script real quick?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “The director wants to know by next week if I’m interested, and I’ve been meaning to give it a read.”
“Of course, go ahead,” you reply with a smile. “I brought a book anyway.”
He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before grabbing the script from his bag near the fireplace. You retrieve your book from the coffee table and settle back into the couch, tucking yourself under the blanket as Glen takes a seat beside you.
Without a word, you drape your legs over his lap, and he shifts slightly to make room for you, resting one hand on your shin as he flips through the pages of the script with the other. The firelight dances across his face, highlighting the subtle curve of his jaw and the faint concentration in his eyes.
The moment is quiet but comfortable, the kind of peaceful intimacy that comes from truly knowing each other. The rhythmic scratch of Brisket’s paws against the blanket as he shifts in his sleep and the occasional turn of a page are the only sounds.
At one point, Glen glances over, his lips quirking into a small smile when he catches you sneaking a look at him instead of reading. “What?” he asks, his voice low and warm.
“Nothing,” you say, fighting a grin as you look back at your book.
“Uh-huh,” he teases, giving your calf a light squeeze before returning to his script.
The hours melt away in the warmth of the cabin, the storm outside a distant hum against the sturdy walls. It’s not about what either of you is doing; it’s about being here, together, in this moment, where everything feels perfectly right.
As the hours pass, the fire in the hearth settles into glowing embers, casting soft, flickering shadows across the room. Glen turns the last page of the script, his brow furrowed in thought. He leans forward to set the stack of papers on the coffee table, grabs his phone, and types out a quick text to the director. His message is short but enthusiastic, praising the script and confirming he’s interested in the role.
Satisfied, Glen sets his phone aside and stretches, his muscles shifting under the soft cotton of his hoodie. When he turns to suggest heading to bed, he freezes, his gaze landing on you.
You’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against the armrest, your book lying open on your chest. The faint rise and fall of your breathing is the only movement, and a lock of hair has fallen across your face. Glen feels a tug at his chest as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face, the way the firelight catches on your skin.
He stands and pads over to you, careful not to wake you. Gently, he takes the book from your chest, marking your place before setting it on the coffee table. Then he leans down and slides an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.
You stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but your head naturally tilts into the curve of his neck. Glen chuckles softly, his breath warm against your hair as he whispers, “Shh, I’ve got you.”
Carrying you into the bedroom, he nudges the door open with his foot and steps inside. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the snow outside, the bed neatly made with thick blankets and soft pillows. Glen carefully lowers you onto the bed, tucking you in and brushing that stray lock of hair behind your ear.
He changes quickly, trading his hoodie and jeans for a pair of flannel pajama pants. The air feels cooler here, away from the fire, but the bed already feels warm and inviting. Glen slides in beside you, careful not to disturb your sleep, and pulls you into his arms.
You instinctively curl into him, your head resting against his chest, your hand finding its way to his side. Glen wraps the blanket snugly around the both of you and lets out a contented sigh, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.
“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers softly, his voice full of warmth and love.
The storm outside howls faintly, but inside, the world feels perfectly still. Glen closes his eyes, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back as he drifts off, holding you close and savoring the quiet, precious moment.
* * * *
The first thing you notice as you wake is the soft golden light streaming through the windows, illuminating the room in a warm glow. The second is the smell of freshly brewed coffee, rich and inviting, curling its way into the bedroom like a gentle wake-up call.
You stretch lazily under the covers, the bed still cozy from the warmth of the blankets and Glen’s presence last night. Just as you start to fully stir, Glen appears in the doorway, holding a steaming mug. His flannel pajama pants hang low on his hips, and his hair is a mess of soft, disheveled waves from sleep. A lazy, boyish smile spreads across his face as he makes his way over to you.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice still gravelly. He hands you the mug, his fingers brushing against yours as you sit up to take it. “Figured I’d let you sleep in a little after you passed out on me last night.”
You smile up at him, taking a careful sip of the coffee. It’s perfect—just the way you like it. “Thanks, Glen. And for the record, that book was really interesting,” you tease, your voice still thick with sleep.
“Mm-hmm,” he replies, leaning down to kiss your forehead before pulling back to look at you.
After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, Glen suggests taking Brisket out for a walk to enjoy the fresh snow that fell overnight. You eagerly agree, bundling up in layers before heading outside.
The air is crisp and sharp against your cheeks as you step into the snow-dusted woods surrounding the cabin. Brisket bounds ahead, tail wagging as he leaves a trail of paw prints in the untouched snow. The trees are heavy with frost, their branches glinting like crystals in the sunlight.
Glen reaches for your hand, his fingers warm against yours despite the chill. He holds it firmly but gently, giving it a soft squeeze whenever you stumble over a patch of uneven ground. The path winds through the woods, quiet except for the crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional bark from Brisket, who seems to be having the time of his life.
Without warning, something cold and wet splats against your shoulder. You stop in your tracks, turning to find Glen standing a few feet away, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.
“Did you just—”
Before you can finish, he’s already crouching to scoop up another handful of snow. You shriek and duck, dodging the second snowball as it sails past you.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” you say, dropping his hand and gathering snow of your own.
The snowball you throw hits him square in the chest, making him laugh. But when your next one lands down the back of his jacket, he lets out an exaggerated yelp. “Oh, you’re playing dirty now!”
Before you can make a run for it, Glen closes the distance between you in a few long strides. He scoops you up effortlessly, spinning you around in the snow. You’re laughing too hard to protest, your breath visible in the cold air as you cling to his shoulders.
“Say you surrender!” he teases, his own laughter mixing with yours.
“Never!” you manage to gasp between giggles.
Brisket, not wanting to be left out, comes bounding over, barking excitedly and leaping between you two. He jumps up, his paws hitting Glen’s legs as if trying to “help” in the playful battle.
Glen finally sets you back on your feet, both of you breathless and grinning as Brisket dances around you. You lean against him for support, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion.
“Truce?” you offer, still catching your breath.
“Truce,” Glen agrees, pressing a quick kiss to your cold nose before pulling you into a warm hug. Brisket barks again, wagging his tail as if to seal the deal.
Together, the three of you continue down the snowy path, your laughter echoing through the quiet woods as the morning sun rises higher in the sky.
Back at the cabin, the warmth from the fire greets you as you shrug off your layers, brushing the last bits of snow from your coat. Brisket shakes himself off by the door, and Glen ruffles his ears before turning to you.
“Alright,” Glen says, his grin still playful from your snowball fight, “how about some cookies? Nothing says cozy cabin vibes like baking something sweet.”
You agree, rummaging through the kitchen to find the ingredients Glen had picked up earlier. Soon, the counter is covered with bags of flour, sugar, butter, and colorful sprinkles, along with a small tub of frosting. Glen insists on being your “assistant,” though he’s more interested in taste-testing than actually helping.
“Are you sure you measured this right?” he teases, stealing a pinch of cookie dough from the bowl as you mix it.
“Glen, if you keep eating the dough, there won’t be any cookies to bake,” you warn, swatting at his hand.
He smirks but relents, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll wait.”
The two of you work together to shape the cookies, laughing as Glen insists on making a few in odd shapes—a heart, a misshapen star, and what he claims is a snowman but looks more like a blob.
Once the cookies are in the oven, Glen grabs the frosting and sprinkles, declaring himself the "official decorator." The first few cookies turn out surprisingly neat, but as he gets more creative, things take a turn for the chaotic. Frosting ends up smeared in uneven patterns, and sprinkles are scattered everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and even in Glen’s hair.
You can’t stop laughing when you see the “masterpiece” he’s holding up proudly. “Glen, that’s not a snowflake. That’s… I don’t even know what that is!”
“It’s abstract,” he counters, grinning as he picks up another cookie. But in his focus, he doesn’t notice the frosting on his hand until you point it out.
“You’ve got a little something… right there,” you say, trying to keep a straight face while gesturing to his cheek.
Glen swipes at it with his sleeve but misses. “Did I get it?”
“Nope,” you giggle, and before you can offer to help, he dips his finger in the frosting and smears a dab onto your nose.
“Now we’re even,” he says, smirking as you gasp in mock outrage.
“Oh, it’s on!” you say, grabbing a spoonful of frosting and aiming for him. But Glen is quicker, catching your wrist and spinning you into his arms. The spoon clatters onto the counter as you both dissolve into laughter, your breath mingling as you’re suddenly very close.
Glen reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His hand lingers, his fingers warm against your cheek as his expression softens. “I love seeing you laugh like that,” he says, his voice quiet but full of sincerity.
The room falls still for a moment, the scent of cookies baking in the oven mingling with the crackle of the fire. You smile up at him, your heart full as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Alright,” he says after a beat, pulling back just enough to look at you, “but seriously, that snowflake cookie was art.”
You laugh, shaking your head as you playfully nudge his chest. “Keep telling yourself that, Powell.”
The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers in the cabin as you and Glen sit together at the kitchen table, admiring your hilariously messy creations. Brisket snores softly on the rug nearby, and the fire crackles in the background, casting a golden glow over the room. You’re mid-bite into a slightly misshapen star cookie when Glen clears his throat, a hint of nervousness in his expression.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says, his lips curving into a smile as he stands and heads toward his suitcase.
You blink in surprise, watching as he unzips a compartment and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package. He returns to you, holding it behind his back for a moment as his grin widens. “Close your eyes.”
You roll your eyes playfully but oblige, closing them and holding out your hands. You feel the weight of the package as he sets it in your palms.
“Okay, open,” Glen says, and his excitement is almost childlike as he watches you unwrap the gift.
Carefully, you peel back the wrapping paper to reveal a slim envelope. Inside, your breath catches as you pull out two tickets to your dream destination, the one you’ve talked about visiting for years. Your eyes widen as you glance up at him.
“Glen…”
He beams, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’ve already got it booked. Flights, accommodations, everything. And before you ask, yes, I’ve cleared it with my team. No work, no interviews, no appearances. Just us.”
Your heart swells as you look at the tickets again, imagining the two of you exploring a place you’ve only dreamed of. “I can’t believe you did this. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he interrupts, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve been wanting to take you somewhere special for ages, and this felt perfect.”
You reach across the table, squeezing his hand as a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, now I feel silly for what I got you.”
He tilts his head. “You got me something?”
“It’s nothing compared to this,” you say with a self-conscious laugh, standing up and heading to your bag. You retrieve a small, gift-wrapped box and hand it to him, chewing your bottom lip as he unties the ribbon.
Inside, Glen finds a framed photo of you, him, and Brisket, a candid moment you’d captured on your phone without him realizing. His expression softens as he stares at it, his thumb brushing over the glass.
“I remembered you saying you wanted a picture of the three of us to take with you when you travel,” you explain, your voice quieter now. “So I had two made. One for your wallet and this one, for your trailer or hotel room. You know, if you want to…”
Glen pulls the smaller print from the box, smiling as he takes his wallet from his pocket and carefully slides it into place. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice warm with sincerity.
You laugh nervously. “It’s really not. I should’ve thought of something bigger or—”
“Hey.” Glen sets the frame down and crosses to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He tilts your chin up with a gentle finger, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I don't need anything but you.”
Your cheeks flush as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. His arms tighten around you, holding you close as if to emphasize his words.
* * * *
The next morning, light filters through the windows, casting a pale glow over the cabin as you sip your coffee, watching the snow begin to fall more steadily. Glen stands by the door, bundling up in a thick coat and scarf as Brisket circles his feet, tail wagging.
“I’m going to check on the weather and see how bad it is,” Glen says, tugging on his boots.
“Be careful,” you call out, wrapping your hands around the warm mug and glancing out at the swirling snow.
The door closes behind him, and you can hear Brisket barking playfully as they step out into the cold. A few minutes later, Glen returns, covered in snow from head to toe, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He shakes his head like a golden retriever, sending snow flying everywhere, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Well?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he stomps his boots on the mat.
“Bad news,” he says, brushing the snow from his hair and grinning as he pulls out his phone. “Road closures all over the area. Looks like we won’t be leaving for a little while.” He holds up his phone to show you the alert, his grin widening. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
You roll your eyes playfully, setting your mug down. “Oh no, how will I survive?”
“Don’t sound too disappointed,” he teases, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist, his cold hands making you yelp as they press against your back.
You swat at him, laughing. “Your hands are freezing! Go warm up by the fire while I grab some extra wood.”
“I can do it,” Glen offers, but you shake your head.
“Nope. You’re already half-frozen. Just sit down and thaw out.”
He smirks, holding his hands up in surrender as he moves to the couch. Brisket hops up beside him, wagging his tail and settling in as Glen scratches behind his ears.
You pull on your coat and boots, stepping out into the crisp, snowy air to gather a few more logs from the covered woodpile. The snow is already piling up, muffling the usual sounds of the woods and leaving the world feeling quiet and serene.
As the fire crackles and the snow continues to fall heavily outside, the two of you settle back into the cozy rhythm of cabin life. There’s a quiet excitement in the air, knowing that the unexpected snowstorm has given you more uninterrupted time together—a gift neither of you were expecting but both secretly cherish.
