Before I could protest, the car filled with the opening notes of a pop song I vaguely recognized from the radio. Mari immediately started singing along, complete with dramatic hand gestures.
“I’m not singing,” I warned her.
“We’ll see about that,” she said with a grin, turning up the volume. She put her feet up on my dash despite my pointing out how dangerous it was if we were to get in an accident. With the windows rolled down, the noise left no room to think.
By the time we reached Door County, she’d forced me to endure—and yes, occasionally sing along to—everything from 80s power ballads to current pop hits. And though I’d never admit it to her, it had made the drive go faster.
The Peninsula State Lodge was a rustic-luxe property nestled among towering pines, with panoramic views of the lake. The main building housed a restaurant, bar, and lobby with soaring ceilings and a massive stone fireplace. Cabins of varying sizes dotted the wooded property, connected by winding paths.
“It’s gorgeous,” Mari breathed as we checked in. “Lia’s going to love it.”
The receptionist smiled as she handed us our keys. “You’re in Cabin 7, Mr. Gable. And Ms. Landry, you’re in Cabin 12.”
“Perfect,” I said, relieved that our accommodations were separate but still close.
“Oh, actually,” the receptionist’s smile faltered. “I’m so sorry, but there’s a problem with Cabin 12. A pipe burst this morning, and the cabin is not habitable.”
Mari and I exchanged a look.
“Do you have another cabin available?” I asked, already knowing the answer from the woman’s apologetic expression.
“I’m afraid not. We’re fully booked for the weekend.” She bit her lip. “Cabin 7 does have two bedrooms, though. Would that work for you?”
I glanced at Mari, letting her make the call. We’d maintained our “professional only” boundary for the past month, but sharing a cabin for two nights would test that resolve.
“That’s fine if you have no other options,” Mari said with a casual shrug that didn’t quite match the wariness in her eyes.
“Of course.” I turned back to the receptionist. “Cabin 7 will be fine. Thank you.”
As we walked to the cabin, rolling our suitcases along the path, Mari broke the silence. “I call the bigger room.”
“Fine with me.” I unlocked the cabin door. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
She hesitated. “Yeah. It’s fine. We’re partners. Colleagues. This is a business trip.”
“Exactly.”
But as we stepped into the cozy cabin with its stone fireplace, plush furniture, and spectacular lake view, it felt far from a standard business accommodation. The main room was warm and inviting, with a kitchenette, dining area, and living space. Two doors on opposite walls presumably led to the bedrooms.
“Nice place,” Mari said, wheeling her suitcase inside. “Very romantic.”
“It’s not—” I started automatically.
“I’m kidding, Gable.” She rolled her eyes. “Lighten up.”
She crossed to one of the bedroom doors and peeked inside. “This one has twin beds.”
“I’ll take it.” I moved toward her. “You take the master.”
The bedroom was simple but elegant, with an antique dresser and large windows overlooking the lake. I set my suitcase on one bed and took a moment to collect myself. This was fine. We were adults. Professionals. We could share a cabin for two nights without incident.
When I returned to the main room, Mari was already curled up on the couch, her tablet propped on her knees, studying what looked like floor plans.
“I’m thinking we start with Lakeside Manor,” she said without looking up. “It has the best views and the most flexible space.”
Just like that, we were back in work mode. I sat beside her—not too close—and looked at the plans she was reviewing.
“What about the other two options?” I asked.
