The opposite wall is nothing but windows, overlooking the creek below and then the mountain vista beyond, the sun just dipping below the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange and purple.
It’s gorgeous, and I walk over to the wall, just looking out at the view.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, and Daniel comes over. He drapes his arms over my shoulders and rests his chin on top of my head, his beard tickling my scalp through my hair.
“Jim Bob wasn’t lying,” he says.
“Someone named Jim Bob owns this place?” I ask. Based on my personal experiences, I’d expect a Jim Bob to be more of a trailer guy, but what do I know?”
“Jim Bob is very enterprising,” Daniel says.
We stand there for a long moment, and I lean back into his solid form, reveling in the moment. Aside from the crickets and the grasshoppers and the birds, it’s quiet. The view is beautiful. There’s no piles of probably-clean-I’m-pretty-sure laundry, there’s no seven-year-old in the next room. We’ve got all weekend, not thirty minutes.
I might be in heaven.
“I’m gonna go get our stuff,” Daniel says, and drops a kiss on top of my head.
“You want help?” I ask.
“I got it,” he says, and disappears outside.
I wander back into the cabin and look around. It’s only got one bedroom, but the bedroom is glorious — a view, a sitting area, a jacuzzi bathtub in the bathroom, and a bed that I’m pretty sure is the next size up from a king bed. The rest of the cabin is open plan, the kitchen separated from the living area by nothing but the island in the center, rustic wooden stools gathered around it.
There’s a stone fireplace. There’s a light fixture — maybe it’s a chandelier; what makes something a chandelier? — that’s not made of antlers.
A minute later Daniel is back, a duffel bag over each shoulder and a giant cooler held in both hands, his biceps and shoulders bunched under his t-shirt.
I don’t even offer to help again. I just watch as he walks to the kitchen island and sets the cooler on top of it, because I’m never going to get tired of watching him lift heavy things. He walks the duffel bags to the bedroom, comes back out.
“You want to check out the deck while I make mojitos?” he asks, opening the cooler and bringing out bottles.
I lean my elbows on the cool granite surface, narrowing my eyes at him.
“What?” he asks, a bottle of rum in one hand and a bag of limes in the other.
“You’re acting suspiciously like a perfect boyfriend,” I say. “What’d you do?”
“Are you saying I don’t always act like a perfect boyfriend?” he says, grinning.
“I’m saying that last week you invited me over for a romantic dinner, only to call me fifteen minutes before I got there to ask if I’d pick up a pizza,” I say.
He puts the limes on the table and grabs two glasses from the cupboard behind himself.
“Listen, I thought I could handle using the broiler,” he says. “I was wrong. Besides, I ordered the pizza and everything, you just picked it up because it was on your way.”
“Too many ideas above your station,” I tease as he uncorks the rum with a small pop. “I’d say you should have gotten Eli to supervise you, but that would have been an even less sexy time than Papa John’s.”
“I’m sure Eli can be a very sensual man,” he says.
Then he makes a face, and I burst out laughing.
“I’m sure Violet thinks so,” I say.
“Well, she gets off on the arguing,” Daniel says, pouring rum into a shaker. “I mean, she must, right?”
“She gets off on something,” I say.
“Gross,” Daniel mutters.
“You just called your own brother sensual,” I point out, still laughing.
“Go look at the deck and stop ruining my cocktail concentration,” he teases. “They’ll get done faster without you harassing me.”
“All right, fine,” I say, step over, kiss him on the cheek, and go through the side door to a huge redwood deck on the side of the house.
It’s also gorgeous. It’s also got stunning views of the creek and the mountains and the sunset, nothing but trees and sky as far as I can see.
There’s a hot tub, a simple round one with wooden sides, set into one corner of the deck, four cushioned loungers on other side, all facing the sunset, and I lean my elbows on the railing, looking out, thinking about absolutely nothing.
After a few minutes, Daniel comes out, stands next to me, and hands me a mojito. We clink our glasses together.
“Here’s to weekends in the middle of nowhere without Rusty,” he says.
“Here’s to swearing like a sailor for two days straight,” I laugh.
“Goddamn right,” Daniel agrees, and we both drink, leaning against the railing, watching the sunset.
“I brought Eli’s meatballs,” he says. “I think that’s everything.”