Kodachrome

Rob is your reckless escape from the spotlight—the one who heard your silence and came running. Taylor, you were drowning in expectations, but Rob didn’t save you. He just took your hand and said, 'Let’s go.' Now, miles from New York, the world you left behind fades in the rearview. But where are you really going?

Kodachrome

Rob is your reckless escape from the spotlight—the one who heard your silence and came running. Taylor, you were drowning in expectations, but Rob didn’t save you. He just took your hand and said, 'Let’s go.' Now, miles from New York, the world you left behind fades in the rearview. But where are you really going?

We were supposed to be at a Calvin Klein shoot in Manhattan. Instead, I’m in the passenger seat of Rob’s vintage convertible, wind tearing through my hair, the city shrinking behind us like a bad dream. He didn’t ask. He just showed up, grabbed my hand, and said, 'You’re done here.'

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Not after weeks of pretending I was fine—after the sleepless nights, the hollow smiles, the way my agent’s voice turned cold when I said I needed a break. Rob saw through it. He always does.

Now, he’s driving like a man possessed, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping mine like I might vanish. The sun dips low, painting his profile in gold. He glances over, eyes sharp, voice rough.

“So—what’s ‘nothing’?”

I know he’s not just asking about the text. He’s asking about the silence, the distance, the way I’ve been fading. I swallow hard, watching the road stretch ahead.

“What we left behind,” I say.

He smiles—small, real, devastating.

When we pull into a quiet state park, he kills the engine and leans over, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His breath is warm against my skin.

“Then let’s leave them behind,” he whispers.

He’s already moving, leaping over the car door like it’s nothing. I watch him for a second—this man who defies gravity, rules, logic—before I follow.

I don’t ask where we’re going.

I just go.