It's a little personal triumph, making Steve laugh, creasing lines around his eyes and shining him up like she'd taken a polishing cloth to him, or clicked a sun lamp on in his face. Still damp from the run, just like she is, enough that the air blowing from the fans almost feels too cold against rapidly evaporating sweat, so she hangs her arm out the window and pretends like it's one of those solar panels, soaking up sun and energy.

Low music drifting with the wind, and she tugs the wet elastic out of her hair, shakes it out with one hand, fingers carding through strands to separate them and lift them so the breeze can work it's way under them, against the back of her neck, and dry it out. Too much hair, maybe, but it's easier to pin up this way, and fun when she gets a chance to let it down, so maybe she can deal with it for a little while longer, at least.

Her eyes slide to Steve, the thumb tapping on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Any important calls?"

He might have said, if there were, but Steve's not exactly the type to volunteer information, just like he doesn't pry for it, either. It's why so much of seeing each other is catching up, glossing over moments that won't suffer for not being brought up and covering months in a few casual sentences.

In this case, she doubts there's anything -- bad news would have had them tearing out of this lot like hellhounds were yapping at their heels, not inspired this aloha-easy drive.