Page 10

I park and get out, immediately met by an orchestra of insects, tiny forest creatures, and the breeze through the treetops. Seriously, they could record this sound and play it at a spa.

After locating the key in a hidden rock, I unlock the front door. The smell of old wood greets me, wafting out of the house along with a draft of cool air from the portable AC unit humming away in the corner. I close the door behind me and clench my fists tightly, squealing in excitement as I check the place out.

The front door opens into the living room, which has a wood-burning stove and an old floral-pattered love seat, as well as a small desk and swivelling computer chair that don’t quite fit with the rest of the rustic aesthetics. The kitchen is just as tiny, taking up the other half of the room with just a countertop peninsula as separation. Two barstools are tucked next to it, where I’ll be eating all my meals since there isn’t a dining table. The cabinets look like they’re straight out of someone’s parents’ photo albums, all dark wood and old bronzed handles. The countertops are yellow laminate, with a circular spaghetti stain to the right of the stove. At least the appliances look new-ish, and I’m pleased to note there’s nothing in the fridge except an open box of baking soda.

I duck my head into the bathroom, which is similarly old and yellow but has everything I need. The bedroom is just as small, with floral-patterned bedding, doilies on the dresser, and old landscape paintings on the walls. The alarm clock next to the bed looks like it belongs in a museum.

This place is so eighties-chic it makes me wish I had a handlebar moustache and a mullet. It’s even better than the pictures!

Next step: hauling in all my crap. Box after box makes its way in, getting stacked in the living room. Once it’s all inside I open the first one to reveal Christmas decorations.

Inhaling deeply, I revel in the nostalgic smells, colours, and textures of my childhood. Red and green twinkle lights, garland and tinsel, ornaments and knickknacks, remnants of past pine trees—it’s all here. I’m so glad Mom let me borrow everything.

I rummage through the tree-decorating box. At the bottom, beneath all sorts of keepsakes my siblings and I have made for the tree over the years, is our VHS player and tapes. Over time we’d replaced several with DVDs, then got rid of those in favour of streaming services, but these last few in the box have more sentimental value than actual worth, and they’re kept with all the Christmas stuff because that’s when we watch the old movies.

Well. We used to.

Luckily, the TV in this cabin seems to be the same age as the VHS player, and all the cords plug in the way they should. I go back to the box and pick up tape after tape, not sure which one to start with. A plain one catches my eye and I lift it to the light to inspect it.Romeo & Juliet 2006is written on the white sticker in black sharpie. I roll my eyes and drop it unceremoniously back into the box, choosing an old classic instead.

Jingle All the Wayplays in the background, Arnie and his Austrian accent filling the tiny cabin with nostalgic bliss as I untangle strings of Christmas lights. I thought ahead and brought a bunch of 3M hooks so I won’t damage anything. Before the movie is over there are lights along every ceiling, over every door, and even wrapped around the stovepipe of the fireplace—since there is no way in hell I’m going to be lighting a fire during this heat wave, no matter how cozy and Christmassy it would be. Method acting does have its limits.

The last thing is a mini blow-up Santa with mechanical movements, which usually goes outside but would be perfect in the corner, on top of the desk. I crawl underneath to find the last available plug, reaching as far as I can and—

Everything goes dark.

I bump my head as I crawl back out. Dammit. I must have flipped a breaker. I should have been more careful with plugging things in with an old cabin like this. Thankfully it’s still only about five o’clock, and plenty of light gets in through the windows for me to see. After searching each room twice, then taking a walk around the outside of the building, I give up on finding the breaker box and open my Airbnb app to contact the owner, who has no profile picture—just a photo of a fox.

Thankfully, there’s still cell reception. Stroke of luck!

Ellie:Hello! This is Ellie. I’m staying at your cabin. There seems to be a problem with the electrical. Not sure what to do.

Joseph:hey! No worries I’m only ten minutes away and just headed out. I’ll be right there.

Ellie:okay thank youuuuuu!??????

Sitting still has never been one of my talents, so I take the next ten minutes to unpack my suitcase. Without that little portable AC unit buzzing away, it gets hot quickly, nearly to the point of me removing my sweater. Thankfully, I don’t have to take such an extreme measure before there’s a quiet knock at the door.

“Oh hello, I’m sorry about this, I—” I’m already talking when I open the door, but all the words that were about to spill from my mouth are suddenly swallowed.

Because of the age of the cabin, I’d been expecting the owner to match it: an old gentleman with a grey handlebar moustache and the remnants of what was once a proud mullet. But no, I’m met with the opposite.

Nearly filling the entire door frame is a handsome young man, with wide shoulders accentuated by a narrow waist. His jeans fit his lower half just snugly enough, leaving little to the imagination, while his upper half is tightly clad in a grey tee. And his face on top of that, my god. He has the jawline of a Marvel hero, dusted in the perfect amount of scruff, but with the soft brown eyes of a daytime TV anchor. His hair is hidden under a black sportsball cap, shading his face from the sun.

He seems equally stunned to see me, taking a step back and blinking a few times.

Then, he smiles.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that smile. Upturned at the corner, a crinkle in his eyes, the tiny rewarding flash of white teeth.

I’m melting.

Or maybe just pooling in my own sweat.

“Hi—hi! Joseph? I’m Ellie.” I put out my hand to shake, then withdraw it, thinking better, but then I don’t want to be rude, so I stick it out there again.

His smile widens. “Joseph’s my uncle. I look after the place for him. I’m Matt.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave me hanging, meeting my hand with his own. His forearms are thick, covered in light brown hair, and there are all sorts of delightful sinuous muscles and tendons wrapping around them. His hand envelops mine completely and sends a shiver up my back. He holds on longer than necessary. Or has time stopped? Hard to know for sure.