On this particular Saturday morning, they were headed just 21 kilometers east to Vevey, a lakeside gem on the northern shores of Lake Geneva. The journey took less than half an hour, winding along the Route de Lausanne, where the vine-clad terraces of Lavaux rolled down towards the water in mesmerizing geometric patterns. The UNESCO-listed vineyards had been carved into the steep hillsides by generations of winemakers, a testament to Swiss ingenuity and a deep respect for tradition.

Ava, gazing out the window, let out a content sigh. "I swear, no matter how many times we do this drive, it never gets old."

Cindy, glancing back from the passenger seat, nodded. "That’s because it’s ridiculously beautiful. And also because you don’t have to do the driving."

Judd chuckled, gripping the steering wheel. "I like driving.

The town of Vevey, often overshadowed by its glitzier neighbor Montreux, was a place of quiet sophistication. Though it had all the hallmarks of a Swiss lakeside retreat—pristine promenades, grand Belle Époque hotels, and café terraces filled with people sipping espresso and solving the world's problems—it also carried a sense of history. This was, after all, where Charlie Chaplin had spent the final 25 years of his life, escaping the chaos of Hollywood for the serenity of the Alps.

They parked near the old town and strolled into its historic heart, a compact labyrinth of narrow one-way streets paved with uneven stones and lined with pastel-hued buildings adorned with wrought-iron balconies. This was the kind of place where modern boutiques sat snugly inside centuries-old buildings, where time moved at its own pace, and where a person could, in Cindy’s words, "wander aimlessly and somehow always end up somewhere charming."

Ava was the first to be lured into a small art gallery on Rue du Lac, her attention snagged by a series of abstract paintings in the window. "Just five minutes," she promised, already disappearing inside.

Judd and Cindy exchanged knowing glances. Five minutes, in Ava-time, meant at least thirty.

"Think they’ll let me sit in that chair over there while she debates colors and textures?" Judd mused, eyeing a vintage leather armchair in the corner.

Cindy smirked. "Not a chance. But maybe if we find an antique camera store next, I’ll return the favor."

They spent the morning wandering between eclectic shops. Cindy found herself drawn to a boutique showcasing beautifully restored mid-century furniture, running her fingers over the polished wood surfaces as she envisioned how they’d look in their apartment. Ava lingered at a tiny independent bookstore, flipping through a collection of essays on Swiss design, while Judd, resigned to being the designated bag-carrier, consoled himself by finding a shop selling artisanal Swiss chocolate.

"Consider this my emotional support chocolate," he declared, taking a bite of a dark truffle infused with whiskey.

By lunchtime, they had made their way down to the waterfront, where Vevey’s lake promenade stretched invitingly under a sky that was now an impossible shade of blue.

Their destination was Pizza Taxi, a relaxed, no-frills Italian restaurant on Quai Perdonnet that had somehow achieved legendary status for serving some of the best pizza outside of Naples.