Love on Fire

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The sun was glistering through the trees creating a gold like shimmer on the already fallen snow. My husband Parker and I own this cabin, so did my parents before us, and theirs before them. This cabin has been in the family for decades, it is our home away from home. This weekend is our 6th year anniversary, we are taking advantage of our weekend off of work and heading out to the cabin. Although we love the time away to rekindle, we also miss our kiddos every time we leave.

Once we finally reach the cabin, we step out of our truck, and I immediately feel the crisp cold air kiss my cheeks with the smells of birch trees and dead leaves lingering through the air. Winter is my favorite season, something about snow sparks happiness in my chest. As we make our way up the path to our cabin I glance over at the pond in our backyard, it is frozen over because of the temperatures, but memories of late summer nights spent at the pond begin to soar over me. I begin to dwell on the images of my father and I fishing off of the dock and enjoying some cold beers.

I recently lost both of my parents in a house fire, doctors keep telling me it was a quick and painless death. They died in each other's arms, which gives me some sort of peace in knowing that they are somewhere together now. My parents were high school lovers, they couldn't have lived without one another, I believe that God knew this, and allowed them to go together. He always has a plan, in this case, his plan was eternal love and life for my parents. I see my husband and I as my parents, we've been together since public school and I could not imagine a life without him in it, together is the way I would want to go.

We head into the cabin and immediately turn on the heat as we turn it off to save money while we aren't here. I start the ovens to begin cooking dinner for the both of us as Parker heads outside to chop some wood for our fireplace.

Steak, baked potato and sweet carrots is our dinner for tonight. We make our plates and get comfy on the couch then turn on our all-time favorite movie "50 First Dates". As we begin to finish up our meals, we decide to end our night with some late-night kitchen dancing to Luke Combs. Music blasting, feet tangled together on the hardwood kitchen floor, we tell eachother "I love you". You can never tell someone you love them too much, as you never know when your last time seeing them may be. I get the same warm feeling in my chest as the day he asked me to marry him, some things never change. We make our way up to the bedroom with a trail of clothes leading into the kitchen where we were just dancing, followed with hundreds of gentle kisses and whispered, "I love You's". Ironically, Luke Comb's "The Kind of Love We Make" playing in the background.

We fall asleep in each other's arms the same as we do every other night, underneath the buffalo print blanket and the mixture of orange light coming from the fireplace at the edge of our bed. Nothing in the world can beat this feeling, not even the feeling of what had just recently happened less than twenty minutes ago.

I doze off into a slumber, in the arms of the person I love, dreaming of... a house fire?

We forgot to put out the fire at the foot of our bed...

Story inspired by my lovely Great Grandparents