Page 57 of Perfectly Grumpy

TWENTY

Tate

When we finally reach the cabin, I’m thankful for my phone’s flashlight or I might have hiked right past the place. The cabin is nestled among a thick cluster of pine trees, right off a small winding trail about a quarter of a mile from the main lodge. The wooden structure, with its slightly crooked porch and weathered cedar shingles, looks charmingly quaint in the dark.

“Home sweet home,” I say, flicking on the light switch and glancing around at the simple interior. I’d dropped my stuff off before heading over to the lodge earlier, but I never got a good look at it. A worn plaid sofa sits at the center facing a rustic stone fireplace with a stack of wood next to it. Above the fireplace is a faded framed sign proudly proclaiming:Welcome to Paradise.Either the owners had a wicked sense of humor or a shockingly low bar for paradise.

A sink and small stove sit in the corner next to a few cabinets and a table for two. The world’s tiniest bathroom is on the other side of the room. I already took over the table with my laptop, so I toss Lauren’s suitcase next to the worn couch before putting Annie in her crate for the night. Then I tuck my laptop away. I can always make editing notes on my iPad, and Lauren will never know what I’m working on.

“You can take the couch,” I say. “It turns into a bed. If you need help, let me know. I’ll just grab my sleeping bag.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor?” Lauren asks.

“You see any other place to sleep?”

“But it’s a wood floor,” she says.

I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I’m tougher than I look.”

Lauren looks at me skeptically. “That’s what they all say before waking up like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” I say, kicking a stray log that’s rolled away from the fireplace. “I’ve survived Leo’s snoring. I can handle hardwood floors.”

I take out my sleeping bag and toss it onto the floor behind the couch, trying to sort out the dividing lines in the space. The couch is only a few feet from the wall, basically giving me no space.

She tosses the couch cushions to the floor in silence and tries to pull out the metal mattress frame, but it won’t budge.

“Here, let me,” I offer, circling the couch. I give it a tug. It groans as the metal frame barely inches open.

This bed is making me look bad. I put my back into it, because there’s no way this ancient contraption is going to beat me. Without warning, the rusted hinges finally release and the bed gives way, throwing me back against the fireplace.

We now have even less floor space than before. Lauren grabs a sheet and throws it over the bed. “You know, we could take turns with the bed.”

“Lauren, I’m fine,” I say with a sigh.

“To quote what you said earlier—that’s what you say when you’renotfine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m too stubborn to admit otherwise,” I say.

I glance over her yellow blouse and jeans. Not only will we have to sleep in this tiny room together, but also figure out how to do simple tasks like change clothes. When I rented this place, I just wanted to get away to work on my book. I never dreamed anyone else would be here rooming with me. When they said thecabin slept two, they meant on this metal torture device posing as a bed.

“You, uh, probably want to change?” I ask.

She opens her suitcase and starts rifling through her luggage. “I’ll change in the bathroom,” she says, “unless you’re really trying to taint this wholesome professional relationship.”

She pulls out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of flimsy white cotton shorts that are as thin as a tissue. Smoke would cover more than those shorts will.

“Right.” I spin around abruptly, nearly knocking a lamp off the tiny side table. “I’ll just face this way and…pretend to be fascinated by the wood paneling.”

Lauren heads to the bathroom. “You do that, Sheriff.”

I hear the door shut. Even though there’s a door between us, it feels like I’m trying to give her some privacy by at least not standing right next to the door.

“Let me know when you’re done,” I say loudly, still studying the wall.

“I don’t think you’ve appreciated that woodwork enough yet,” she teases from inside. “Give it another minute.”

I exhale. “Sure. Take your time. I’m becoming a real expert on log-cabin craftsmanship. By the end of the week, I’ll probably know how to build my own cabin.”

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