Fiction logo

The Cabin

A Love Story

By Liz ClarkPublished about a year ago 5 min read
Like

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. The sloped roof was blanketed in white, long icicles dripping from the eaves catching the sun and glistening in the evening light. A long deck wrapped around it, strings of delicate lights strung along its railing. Surrounded by white-capped pines and mountains rising in steep peaks around us, we’d fallen into a comfortable silence in the last hour of our drive. As we got out of the car, the snow crunching underfoot, we both looked up at the cabin in awe - our home for the next few nights. I looked over at my new wife. It’d begun to lightly snow and a few flakes drifted between us. When she looked at me, my heart stopped. Her smile was wide and open, her dark curls flecked with snow and her eyes lit with wonder. My hand reached out of its own accord, my fingers touching her warm cheek. She had closed her eyes and for a moment had leaned into my touch. I pressed my lips against her forehead, inhaling deeply. Pulling her into my side, we looked up at the cabin again, at the frosted scene around us.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I know,” she replied.

When we pushed the cabin door open, her fingers tightened around mine. Light flooded in through a pane of glass that spanned the entire back wall of the cabin. Before us, the mountains speared the horizon in every direction. The paneled walls and wooden floor were warmed golden by the sun. Snow was still falling lazily and small drifts had pushed up against the bottom of the window. In the center of the room a large, red sectional was piled high with cushions and faux fur throws. Under it a worn but ornate rug was stretched across the wide plank floor in front of a stone fireplace. Next to it, a pile of wood had been stacked neatly. We walked into the room, fingers intertwined. Beside a small open kitchen, a spiral staircase led up into the beams above us where a loft was. My wife’s hand slipped from mine as she skipped over to them and I watched as she slide her hand along its railing, her eyes following the steps up. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. Her scarf hung draped from her shoulders, forgotten. She had looked at me and smiled. An invitation. I followed her. I’d always follow her. The loft was open to the main floor, the view of the mountains uninterrupted through the large window. Somehow even more spectacular from up there. “It’s like being inside a snow globe,” she’d said. At our backs, a tall four-poster bed in honeyed pine took up most of the loft. She turned to me and took my hands in hers, peeking up at me through long, black lashes. For all the years I’d loved her, the shyness had never paled. She’d look at me like I was the most important person to ever have looked at her. She’d look at me like I was the only person who could see her. And when I bent my head to her, and kissed her, she melted against me. And for just a moment, the reason for the trip, the gravity of life these part few months, was forgotten. That night, we’d sit in front of the crackling fire and eat toasted marshmallows. Sandwiching them between graham crackers and chocolate. We’d laugh between mouthfuls, our fingers sticky. When I held her, she’d sigh against me and close her eyes. And I’d savor her smile. “I love you,” I’d whisper.

“I know,” she’d reply.

The next morning, as we made breakfast together in the small kitchen, stepping around one another in familiar ease, she stopped abruptly and touched my arm. She was staring out the window and when I followed her gaze I saw them. So close I could see their chests rise and fall, two deer, a buck and a doe, standing in the snow. The early morning light painted their fur the color of caramel. Inside a snow globe, I’d thought, as I turned my attention back to her. To the oversized t-shirt that had slipped from her shoulder and the curls that fell across her bare skin there. To the slope of her neck and the pink scar, I could see peeking out from her shirt. I wrapped my arms around her. We snow shoed that day. The sky was shockingly blue and clear. Everything felt larger, more surreal. The world cushioned by blankets of white. When she started to fade, we turned back. Inside the cabin, I wrapped her in a thick blanket and made hot chocolate. She listened to me with her eyes closed as I rambled about nothing, a small smile playing across her lips. She yawned and put her head against my chest. I ran my fingers through her hair. “I love you,” I said. “I know,” she’d sighed. The sun was setting. Pinks and yellows spreading out from the horizon like paint spilled across canvas. She’d slept for a few hours and woken still tired. Nonetheless, she’d insisted we bring all the pillows and blankets down from the loft and make a nest on the floor with our back to the couch so we could see the sun dip behind the mountains. Together we’d watched the sky turn navy and then counted the stars until there were too many to keep track of. “You should keep doing things like this.” Her voice was softened with sleep. I nodded, forced my eyes to stay open despite the tears threatening to spill there.

“I love you,” she said.

“I know.”

Love
Like

About the Creator

Liz Clark

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.