Page 101 of The Cabin

“Well, you have it.” I’m feeling antsy and nervous. I have no idea if he’s even going to like the tattoo I designed for him. Can you imagine? If he hated it? He’d never say it, but I can read him so well now. I’d know. His reaction will decide whether I know him like I think I do or not.

It’s not a very long drive. Grayson laughs and jokes and sings. I fake every single one of my reactions, attempting to seem normal. He sees right through me. He always does. But he doesn’t push.

We pull up to what looks like a few abandoned train cars on rusted railroad tracks. I’m still taking in my surroundings when Grayson opens my door and offers his hand to help me down. I take it and he doesn’t let go, he simply leads the way, rubbing up and down my thumb.

“What are we doing here?” It seems like a weird place to reveal tattoos.

He doesn’t answer, he just gives my hand a light squeeze and continues forward.

The cars have been separated, no longer connected by the couplings they were built with, and we walk through two of them, revealing a patio with gazebo lights and waiters bustling around.

“What is this?” Still, he doesn’t answer, he just walks us to the host stand and gives his name.

“Welcome Mr. Stoker.” A man around the age of my dad smiles and grabs a menu. “And Ms. Vatner, the pleasure is ours.” He grabs a second menu and motions for us to follow him. We walk down the line until we reach the last train car. There are steps leading up to one of the original doors on either end. Each car has huge windows looking over the mountains, but they’re all tinted, and I haven’t been able to catch a single glimpse of what they look like inside.

Our host climbs the steps and ushers us in. My eyes are wide. I’m speechless. It’s so beautiful in here. A table for two is set with a perfect view of the landscape outside. There are fairy lights and flowers and hanging plants and candles all over. It’s been done so well. Sophisticated even. So many tiny details.

“Wow.”

Grayson lets go of my hand and moves to hold my chair out for me. I sit, scooching my chair in and forget my nerves completely when he moves his chair closer to me before sitting down.

“Our chefs have prepared two different four course journeys for you this evening. They suggest ordering a journey in its entirety, but you are free to mix and match as you please. I will return shortly with your requested bottle of wine. Water is already served, and there is a pitcher behind you for refills.”

“Thank you so much…”

“Charles.”

“Thank you so much, Charles.”

Charles bows and leaves Grayson and I alone.

My head swivels to face him. I’m surprised to find he looks a little nervous and keeps running his hands up and down his pants. “What in the world is this?” I ask, big smile on my face as my eyes roam the room again. I am severely underdressed, but that’s a given.

“It’s called the Train Stop. They refurbished a bunch of old train cars and offer dinner service on Friday and Saturday night.”

“Only Friday and Saturdays?”

“Yeah, it’s like stupid hard to get a table.”

“But you got one?”

He’s all teeth. “But I got one.”

“You’re cute, you know.” I can’t believe I just said that.

It felt kind of good, honestly.

He grabs my hand and brings it to rest on his thigh. “You’re cuter.”

Charles is back with (at this point, are we even surprised?) my all-time favorite bottle of wine. I had it in Spain with my mom one of the times we went and have thought about it ever since. It was the ending to a perfect day. And it stuck with me.

I give Grayson a look and he just smiles harder. I’m positive I’m going to find a switch on him someday. A plug that proves he’s a robot made specifically to be perfect for me. What a cruel world.

I glance down at my menu while Charles opens the bottle. Ooooooh. This looks so fun. The second option is more seafood based and I’m not a huge fan. Makes the choice easy, and thank god, because that could’ve been a crazy hard decision based on the kinds of options I’m seeing. I’ve never even heard of some of these ingredients, let alone the combinations they’ve come up with.

“Would you like to sample the selection first, Mr. Stoker?”

He shakes his head and leans towards me. “It’s Ms. Vatner’s favorite wine. She should be the taster.” Smoldering. His eyes are smoldering and I am melting and we’re about to have a serious problem on our hands.

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