Page 90 of Stay this Christmas
I looked around, too, as though a hallway might have materialized with another cozy bed tucked away. Even a cot would have been something. But she was right, no other beds here.
“The listing specified two beds.” I pulled out my phone but remembered another of the tiny house’s charms: no cell service or WiFi.
I searched all around the queen bed, my fingers scrambling for a secret latch to a trundle bed, an air mattress, anything. Stargazing had been my prime motivation for booking this house, but the listing had said two beds. Or…had it? Sometimes with my concentration issues, I couldn’t be sure of myself. But I’d wanted two to make sure Harper would be comfortable, and now—
“Sam?” she said, rattling something. “I think this is the other bed.”
I turned around, patting down the raised bed frame as though a second might still turn up. She’d swung a net out on a chain set in one wall and locked it into place on the other by the door, revealing…
“A hammock,” we both said at the same time.
Not my first choice, but I’d slept in worse. “I can make that work.”
She frowned hard at me, unlocking the hammock chain and swinging it back into place on the opposite wall. “You’re not going to sleep in a string hammock like some castaway.”
“I promised you two beds.”
“We’re both adults. I think we can control ourselves in one bed.”
So optimistic. She had no idea the scenes already running through my mind. That cozy little bed nook would be a whole lot cozier with two.
“Anyway, the main attraction is outside, right?”
“Wow. You went straight for the jugular.”
She shot me a stern little look.
“You know what I mean. Are there chairs outside?” She turned to the collapsed hammock. “Are we supposed to use that?”
“Definitely not. Climb into bed.”
Her eyebrows jumped. “We just said no Twister.”
“Harps. Trust me. Climb into bed.”
“Okay.” She dragged out the word as she slipped off her ankle boots. Crawling onto the plush bed, she made herself cozy.
“Don’t move.”
“Not excellent pillow talk, Samuel.”
I chuckled, not letting myself imagine real pillow talk with her. “Just stay there.”
She looked at me like I was nuts as I slipped away to the light switch. Flicking it off, the tiny house plunged into total darkness.
“This is not as awesome as you think it is,” she trilled.
“You have no faith in me.” I patted down the tapestries on one wall of the bed nook until I found a pull cord. Tugging, the tapestry covering the sloped angle above the bed drew upward, revealing a six-foot-long window. We’d have a front-row seat to hundreds of stars.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathed out. “This is incredible.”
I crawled onto the bed beside her. The view was pretty fantastic. Not a cloud in the sky, no light interference for miles, just bright constellations above us.
“Is this a good way to check it off your list, or what?”
She rolled over and kissed me on the mouth. “It’s perfect.”
Rolling back into place, we stared up at the glorious scenery.
