“Dammit. Don’t you cry, or I’ll cry!” Juniper says, reaching to sweep the already falling tear from my cheek.
“Sorry,” I mumble, coming apart at the seams. “I think you’re right,” I agree, no matter how much it pains me. “What we’vehad here, I wouldn’t change for the world, but I guess it’s not exactly something we can just take home.”
“Not this time.” Juniper says. Then she laughs a little to herself. “Would it be cheesy if I said, ‘But we’ll always have Holly Hill?’”
I laugh too. “Yes. It would be cheesy as hell.” I wipe my face and try to capture and hold that sparkle in her eyes. “But I like it.” I glance back at the hallway, to our closed bedroom door. “And I think Ethan will too.”
We shower together, taking turns to feel the full force of the artificial rainfall douse our bodies in hot water. We giggle, soaping each other up then washing each other off. We hold one another and gently sway to the sound of rushing water as we share soap bubble kisses, soft and maybe a little too splashy for comfort. I draw a half-heart in the steamed glass, and Juniper completes it, making it whole—though, like our time here, it’s only temporary.
When we finish, we creep across the hall, our bodies still glistening, our footprints damp, and our giggles hushed.
Juniper holds up one finger, then two, then three, and I fling open the door. We both pounce on Ethan, ripping off the duvet and pressing our wet, naked bodies against him so that he laughs and shrieks.
“Get off!” he calls as I press my cold, wet breasts to his warm, bare chest. We both tickle and tease him until he leaps from the bed, hands raised in surrender.
“What?” I blink my doe-eyes ever so innocently. “We couldn’t let you stay in bed all day!”
He grunts, though a sheepish grin makes its way past his defences before he slopes off to the bathroom, alone. Two seconds later two towels fly through the open bedroom door. Then we hear the bathroom door swinging shut.
“Do you think he’s mad?” Juniper asks me, smiling.
“Oh, yeah. I think he’ll be frustrated just thinking about that particular wake up call for days …” I say mischievously. “If not weeks.”
Once we’re all dressed and showered, Ethan and I begrudgingly pack up our belongings while Juniper goes through the checklist Willow gave her for closing out the cabin.
“Darling?” I pass Ethan a pair of winter socks for his bag, and he hands me a pyjama top I must’ve missed.
“Yeah?” He hefts his suitcase to one side and sits on the bed, patting the space next to him. “You okay?”
I sit beside him, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. “Not really.”
He sighs. “Me neither.”
I gaze out the window; it still isn’t snowing. My hopes for a freak snowstorm to keep us captive here for a few more days dwindle with every passing hour. “I spoke to Juniper this morning.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “And I bet that’s not all you did,” he teases.
“Now, now.” I smile back. “We just showered together. That’s what friends do, right?”
He nods. “Oh yes. I totally shower with all my friends.”
I lean into him, playfully nudging his side, and he nudges me back. “Well, we just … we both kinda think …” I attempt to bring a tiny bit of seriousness to the conversation. “We think what happened here, at Holly Hill, should, y’know … stay here,” I say quietly.
“Ah.” He nods. “What happens in Vegas—” He taps the side of his nose.
I chuckle. “That’s what Juniper said!”
He kisses me, taking my face in his hands for a long, slow moment. It’s more than just a husband kissing his wife. It’s our way of saying goodbye to us three. The kiss tells me that, eventhough it’s been so much fun having a third, and even though this hurts, we’re going to be okay when it’s just us two again. We’ll be okay, and hopefully Juniper will be too. Until next time, at least.
Once we’re all packed, we leave our bags by the front door, neither of us wanting to take them to the car yet. Neither of us wanting to truly admit we have to leave.
I clean out the fire, even though Juniper tells me not to (because that’s Willow’s job). And we kinda bimble around putting the place back together, as it was when we arrived, though we can never undo all of it. Nor would we want to.
The last thing on my mental list is to pull up the fur blanket from the living room floor and return it to our bedroom. Then Ethan and I shift the coffee table back into place in front of the sofa.
We stand there, looking out at the living space, all pretty and perfect and—
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Juniper whines.
