“I think the guest cabin is over this way,” he says over his shoulder. I nod and follow him as he skirts around the truck and heads down a narrow path that cuts through the woods.
About fifty yards into the trees, he stops short, causing me to almost crash into him from behind. The building in front of us doesn’t look much like a rustic cabin; it’s more like a mini version of a luxury chalet. It’s small, finished with cedar siding that’s weathered to a silvery color. A pair of Adirondack chairs sits on a large porch, and the front door is painted red, the color faded from age and salt.
“Whoa. That’s unexpected,” Sam says. “I wonder if the inside is as nice as the outside.” He unlocks the door, and we walk in to find a tiny but incredibly luxurious little space. The first floor is the main living area, with a kitchen to the right, a bathroom to the left, and a central room with a comfy-looking couch facing a stone fireplace, a flat-screen mounted above it. Big picture windows face out into the forest.
There’s a loft area above, accessed by a narrow staircase that’s more like a ladder than proper stairs. Since the building is surrounded by towering evergreen trees, we can’t see the ocean through the windows, but I’m sure you can hear it if your ears work well enough.
The kitchen, while small, seems like something a gourmet chef would be happy with, and the bathroom looks like something out of a movie star’s house, complete with multiple showerheads and a jetted soaker tub. We look at each other, our eyes wide with shock, but we both break into smiles at the same time. It’s far nicer than expected. I mean, it’s set up more like a romantic couples getaway spot instead a crash pad for a couple of construction workers, but hell, I’m not gonna complain. This is a level of luxury I could get used to.
“Dude, this place is fucking awesome!” Sam says, my hearing aids picking up the enthusiasm in his voice. “Let’s go check out the bedrooms!”
His excitement is contagious, and I’m almost giddy as I follow him to the ladder leading upstairs. It takes Sam about three seconds to bound up it with me right behind him, but those three seconds give me a tantalizing view of his gorgeous ass. And for the second time, I nearly crash into him.
He stops once he gets to the top, blocking my way to get off the ladder thingy, so I lean over to see around him.
What we thought was two separate rooms up here, or at least an area with a couple of beds, turns out to be a large loft. There’s a window on the back wall, and pushed right up against it is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. It must be bigger than a king bed; maybe it’s custom-made or something. But it’s so huge that there’s not a lot of floor space left.
“Oh!” I say in surprise.
We both stand still for a second, until the absurdity of the situation washes over me, and I burst into laughter.
CHAPTER 13
SAM
“Well, this is interesting.” I say, staring at the giant bed taking up about 99 percent of the floor space up here. Tyler climbs up behind me, and he snorts as he takes in the huge bed. He pauses, looks around for a second, and then bursts into laughter.
“Well, at least it looks comfortable,” he laughs.
Knowing he was already nervous about being roommates when we assumed there were a couple of bedrooms, or at least separate beds, I hope he isn’t freaking out over the whole “only one bed” situation. But he seems to be genuinely amused, so I bark out a laugh of my own.
“Hmm. Good thing that couch looks comfy,” I laugh. “Maybe we can figure out how to get this taken out and move a couple of smaller beds in here,” I muse.
I glance over at Tyler, and he shrugs. “I’m smaller than you. I’ll take the couch.”
I roll my eyes since there is absolutely no way I’m letting him sleep on the couch. The guy is still carrying around pieces of shrapnel inside his body from the explosion he barely survived while he was serving our country. Hopefully Tyler doesn't try to argue with me.
“No way will you be the one sleeping on the couch, soldier.” I hold up my hand when he starts to protest. “Let’s go grab our bags. We’ll worry about the sleeping arrangements later. I want to go into town to grab groceries since they probably close everything up early on Sundays,” I say, and Tyler nods, turning to head back down the ladder.
TYLER
We head into town and pick up enough supplies to last us the next few days at the tiny grocery store, and Sam insists on picking up some firewood. He gets all excited when he talks about having a beach fire and making s’mores, and it’s completely adorable. I’ve never made s’mores over a campfire, and it sounds awesome. It’s sweet how Sam seems to be trying to make this experience into something of a vacation for me. I would have thought it would make me defensive, which is typically my go-to reaction when I feel like the “poor kid” who never had the experiences or advantages most people take for granted growing up. But with Sam, for some reason, it’s no big deal. He’s clearly enjoying showing me around and explaining things about the area. My dick twitches in my jeans when he gets this confident, authoritative voice he uses when he’s explaining things. Or when he’s made a decision he will absolutely not back down from, like when he told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep on the couch. A delicious little shiver rolls through me just thinking about it.
Even though I really try not to use alcohol as a crutch for my feelings, I’m thinking one or two beers right now might help settle me down a bit because this day has been kind of a wild ride. Between feeling vulnerable from my confession about my nightmares and then discovering we’re going to be a lot cozier than we’d planned, I think I’ve earned a couple of drinks.
We get the groceries unloaded, and since it’s a little too early to think about dinner, I decide I need some breathing space.
“Hey, I think I’m going to head down to the water and stretch my legs a bit,” I say to Sam, who’s kneeling in front of the gas fireplace, trying to get it turned on.
“Okay, cool,” he says, sounding a little distracted.
I grab my sketchbook and tuck it under my arm as I head out the door. It’s not like I hide my art from people, but I’m a little shy about showing it. Sketching and drawing calms my nerves. It helps me let go of stuff in my head that I can’t seem to let out any other way, so it’s very personal.
It’s still afternoon, but the sun is moving toward the horizon already, the days being short at this time of year. The wind has calmed, but the wooden staircase leading down to the beach is a little on the rickety side, and it creaks and groans loudly as I make my way down. I imagine we’ll be tasked with making these stairs more sturdy. When I reach the bottom, I turn and start walking northward on the beach until I find a driftwood log that looks comfortable enough, so I settle myself on it and open my sketchpad.
As usual, I get lost in my drawing, so I don’t know how long I’ve been there when I look up to find Sam standing in front of me, a blanket under one arm and a thermos in the other hand.
“Hey there,” he says, his big chocolate-colored eyes crinkling up at the corners. I don’t normally think of other men as beautiful, but Sam Campbell really is. Especially with the sun shining from behind him, creating almost a halo effect around him.
