Page 179 of Marry Me, Maybe?
Doubt slammed through me, making me uneasy. I sat upright and stared at him. “Shit—you don’t want to, do you? I should’ve asked. If you’d rather a normal resort, I can?—”
“Matt.” He squeezed the hand on his thigh. “It’s fine. I’ll love it because it’s with you. Don’t go second-guessing now.”
The panic eased out of me. I nodded, swallowing hard. I wanted the next three days to be amazing. Our wedding had been perfect, minus the chicken fiasco. Then, during the meal, Ivy burst into tears at the chicken on her plate, thinking it was Ms. Cluck. She wouldn’t calm down until we found Opie and that damned chicken, which was destined to ruin all our lives.
The hours dragged and blurred, headlights cutting through empty country roads. When Hudson got tired, weswitched, and I got behind the wheel. I missed a turn, and we ended up lost, had to double back, for which I earned his merciless teasing about having the worst sense of direction for a rancher who drives cattle.
By the time we rolled into Silver Creek Hollow, the light was fading fast, the sky smeared with lavender and gray like spilled watercolor. The road narrowed into gravel and then into dirt, winding between pines that towered black against the dusky horizon. When the old ghost town finally revealed itself, it was like stepping into another world.
Cabins stood tucked into the trees, their roofs pitched steep, chimneys smoking faintly. The air smelled of pine, woodsmoke, and something mineral, probably the hot springs that steamed in the distance. Fairy lights glimmered along the main path, strung between wooden posts, warm against the creeping dark. The place felt alive and quiet all at once, like it had been waiting for us.
A man appeared at the gate, his lantern swinging golden arcs over the packed earth. He looked to be in his late fifties, his beard mostly silver, his shoulders broad under a worn canvas vest. He tipped his hat as we stopped the truck.
“Evenin’. You must be the Magnusons.” His voice carried the calm cadence of someone used to wide-open spaces. “Name’s Elias. I help to oversee the town with my missus.”
Hudson rolled down the window. “Yes, that’s us.”
I smiled at the ease with which he accepted being a Magnuson.
“Figured as much, though you’re late.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “We have two other couples about, but you won’t see much of them except at meal times. Cabins are well spread out. Privacy’s kind of our specialty. Door’s already open for you, and the place aired out. You’ll find the key in the drawer ofthe bedside table. You need anything, you pick up the phone and dial 0.”
“Thank you,” Hudson said. “We’re looking forward to spending the next few days here.”
Elias waved us through, then walked ahead with the lantern bobbing in rhythm with his steps. The path opened up to a cabin nestled against a slope of rock and fir trees, its windows glowing amber in the dusk. Built of dark timber and stone, it looked solid, like it had stood there a hundred years, yet the soft light spilling through the curtains made it feel welcoming, almost tender.
When we got inside, carrying our bags with the kind of sluggish steps only a wedding day could carve into a man, the rustic charm hit us first, softened with surprising polish. Wide-plank floors gleamed, the scent of fresh cedar rose like a balm, and modern lamps glowed warm atop old oak tables, light bouncing off polished beams overhead.
And in the middle of the room, like some kind of centerpiece, was the tub. A copper basin, round and deep, its hammered surface catching every bit of light and gleaming like fire. On any other day, I might’ve circled it, run my hand along the rim, imagined us sinking into it together. But tonight, the sight only reminded me how heavy my arms felt, how my legs ached from standing and dancing, how my cheeks ached from smiling.
Hudson stopped dead, eyebrows lifting. “That’s… a bathtub.”
“Copper,” I corrected, smirking. “Fancy, right?”
He gave a low chuckle, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a little ridiculous. But I’m not saying I don’t like it.”
His yawn cracked wide, and I had to laugh at how it turned into a groan halfway through.
“You tired?” I asked.
“Kind of. That drive was brutal.”
“I hear you.”
We made a valiant effort to take in the rest, the stone fireplace stacked with wood, the shelves lined with books and board games. But the truth was, we didn’t get far.
The bed caught both our eyes at the same time, and we looked at it with a grin.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
“If that’s how much you want to curl up in bed and sleep, then yes.”
“Let’s do it.”
“But aren’t we supposed to you… you know.”
“We got a lifetime, babe. Let’s get some rest and figure out everything else tomorrow.”
His groan as he sank onto the bed to sit said I made the right decision. Shoes kicked off, bags left in a heap, clothes on the floor, we collapsed into bed against each other like men who’d run marathons. I shuffled closer to him, and he placed his head on my shoulder.
