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“Hi,” she finally grumbled back, resting her head on my shoulder. I looped my arm around her and kissed her neck. “Hi. How was your day?”
“Good! I started the S’mores cookie cake for Trailblazers, and the Dover Chamber of Commerce placed an order for Gladys’ birthday. Plus, the usual. We sold out of S’mores cookies today. What about you?”
“That’s awesome! I’ve started looking into that abandoned dance studio at the edge of Dover. I have a client who’s thinking of buying it and turning it into a Wellness center and spa. I need to do some market research. But listen, I was thinking, we need a vacation.”
“Oh?”
“What do you think of going camping next weekend?” I asked.
Becca looked skeptical. “Camping? Like, in a tent?”
“No, not in a tent. In a cabin with air conditioning and a big, fluffy bed. Here,” I pulled up a photo of the cabin and the lakefront on my phone and showed it to Becca.
Her eyebrows jumped. “Oh, that’s gorgeous! I’d love to go. It’s funny; I can’t picture you in the woods. You seem like such a city slicker.”
“My dad and I started renting this cabin a couple of years ago for company retreats. It’s the only time we can stand each other. That cabin is magical. I go up there by myself nearly every summer. I wanted to try and take you in June, but then everything happened with the twins and The Cookie Cove,” I explained.
Becca snuggled deeper into my side, “My parents used to have a cabin. It was my favorite place to go when I was a kid. It felt like we were on the edge of the world. I used to hate going back to Boston because I couldn’t see the stars anymore. Then, when I was in elementary school, my parents started sending me to sleepaway camp to get me out of their hair for the summer. It was the best. That’s how I met Elle. We met the summer before high school, and then she showed up on the first day of Freshmen year, and all my anxiety about high school faded away. Camp’s the best. Are there canoes?” Becca asked.
I laughed, loving her rambling story. “I think there might be. I’ll check. We can go fishing,” I said.
“I love fishing! Oh, this will be great. I’m not scheduled to work next weekend, either. It’s perfect. I’ve been wanting to go somewhere, but we’ve been so busy,” she said.
“It’ll be great to get away.”
“It’ll be our first family vacation!” Becca realized, cradling her belly. I placed my hand on top of hers.
“You’re right! Next year we can teach them how to fish,” I joked.
Becca laughed. “They’ll still be babies. I don’t think they’ll have the fine motor skills for fishing just yet. But we can show them the lake,” she suggested.
I shook my head. “I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who looks forward to taking his family to the lake,” I admitted.
“Well, I never thought I’d be that kind of girl.”
Friday Morning, Becca and I hauled our suitcases down into the lobby. While Becca was usually a light packer, this time, she packed two full suitcases even though we would be gone for less than forty-eight hours.
“It’s different now that I’m pregnant! I barely know what will fit from day to day, and I get overheated so quickly! I needed to be prepared.”
“If this is how you pack for yourself, I can’t imagine how you’ll pack for our children,” I said, hauling the final suitcase into the lobby.
“Oh, they’ll each be getting their own suitcase,” Becca assured me.
I rolled my eyes as I hauled our suitcases to my car. I realized that my children would be able to spend summers at a cabin on the lake, and that thought filled me with pride.
We arrived at the cabin around four. The air was fresh. It smelled bright and earthy. I could hear the birds chirping. Becca grinned as she looked around at the pine trees that surrounded us.
“This is perfect!”
“Just wait until you see the cabin,” I said.
It was glorious: a 3,000 square-foot A-frame cabin with four bedrooms and two half baths, plus a deck and a porch. The East-facing windows in the living room took up the entire wall, allowing you to look out into the forest and spy on any deer who might pass through.
I hauled our suitcases inside while Becca waited on the porch. Becca settled into one of the vintage rocking chairs on the porch and sighed contentedly.
“This is exactly what I needed,” she said as we walked inside.
Becca’s jaw dropped as she observed the polished wooden interior and the loft bed upstairs. It was rustic but still luxurious, with a wood-burned print of woodland creatures hanging on the wall and a snug breakfast nook.
