He set me back on the ground. “Deal.”
Ken and Annie walked up, smiling. “It’s so great to finally meet you.”
I extended my hand to Ken. “You too, Mr. Abrams.”
He ignored my hand and pulled me in for a hug.
Not. Awkward. At. All. My hand trapped between us.
When he released me, I more than expected Annie to take his place. Instead, she smiled shyly at me and ducked her head.
“Let me take one of those for you.” Ken barreled his way closer and relieved Landon of my bag. “Come on in. Annie baked you fresh cookies, and they’re best eaten while still warm.” He turned and tromped back to the house, fully expecting everyone to follow in his wake.
Which we did. Who could resist the promise of cookies?
As I crossed the pavers to the front door, I took the opportunity to study the enigmatic couple in front of me. I’d never tuned in to any of Ken Abrams’ sermons on television, so I didn’t have foreknowledge to go off of besides the bits Claire had shared. But from the things she’d said, I’d been expecting to be welcomed with a stern frown and a list of thou shalt nots upon crossing the threshold.
Ken reached for Annie’s hand and turned his head to wink at her.
These two were not what I’d expected. Sure, she seemed to fit the bill as a pastor’s wife. Demure. Content to be in the shadows, supporting her man from behind the curtains. She probably played the piano, helped out in children’s services, and was a nurse, too. Weren’t those some sort of prerequisites?
Kidding! Kidding.
Sort of.
Ken set the luggage down to open the door. He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped it across his bald head. Well, not completely bald. More of a hairless horseshoe shape. The hair along the sides and back was thick, as if all the follicles from the top had had to flee their borders and were now refugees in the south.
I grinned but forced the edges of my lips back into a straight line. Should probably keep that observation to myself. If the esteemed Ken Abrams had specific views on marital status, no doubt he’d have a thing or two to say about border control. And gun control. And any other controversial topic in the news nowadays. Didn’t want to get caught up in a political debate. Especially one started by my weird simile about his male-patterned hairline.
I shuffled along behind him but stopped a few feet inside. My eyes roamed over the inside of the cabin. Cozy. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, a soft, brown leather sofa perfectly placed to soak up the fire’s heat on a snowy winter’s night. A low bookshelf housed spines of old classics as well as a stack of board games. Tongue and groove paneling coated the inside. Ceiling, walls, floor. Everywhere my eyes tracked followed a line of knotty pine.
The living room opened to the dining and kitchen, the rustic wood motif continuing. Red and white gingham curtains hung over a window in front of the sink, and open shelving housed splashes of color in stacked Fiestaware. A narrow ladder led to a loft, then my gaze stopped on a closed door. The only closed door.
I did some quick calculations. Lofts in cabins like this usually meant bedroom. Closed door, another bedroom. Six adults. Two bedrooms. Now, I was an English Lit major, not a math major, but even I could see this equation equaling problems.
Pause here.
Clichéd life meant I’d seen this plot before, so the complication of sleeping arrangements wasn’t something that was going to blindside me. In fact, I’d already mustered out the options.
There was the sleeping in the bath tub option, which was really no option at all. I mean, really? Who came up with that? Talk about needing a chiropractor after only a few hours. Maybe if one of us were the size of a Keebler Elf that sort of thing could work, but no full-grown adult could ever comfortably sleep in a bath tub.
Option two—make a pallet on the floor. Uncomfortable, but didn’t take a contortionist to pull off. I’d already decided I’d be the one to take the floor, since it was my crazy family that had put us in this situation to begin with, and Landon could take the bed.
Option three—build a wall down the middle of the bed out of pillows and blankets. If Ken Abrams ever found out a man and a woman who were not married had shared a bed, he’d be scandalized. This was my favorite option if option four failed me. Both of us got to experience the comfort of a mattress, and just because we slept relatively side by side did not mean anything would happen. We could be adults in the twenty-first century.
Option four—I’d share a room with Claire, and Landon would share a room with Noah, because no way would they be in the same room.
But for option four to be viable, there would have to be a minimum of three bedrooms, and as I stood there gaping by the front door, I could only come up with two. Which meant…
Nope. Sorry. I was out of options.
Claire nudged me in the spine, putting my feet back in motion. Annie opened the closed mystery door, and we all filed in.
Bunk beds. Three sets of bunk beds lined the walls.
A small laugh escaped my chest. I’d never been so happy to return to summer camp in my life.
“Hope you two don’t mind chaperoning Noah and Claire in here.” Ken set my luggage down next to one of the beds. “We use this cabin for leadership retreats and such. The only queen size is up in the loft.” He eyed his wife. “Although, if you and Landon would be more comfortable up there, Annie and I can—”
