“All right, so tonight we’re doing five-chili-pepper stuff.”
She raises her eyebrows. “That’s quite adventurous.”
“Is it?” I frown. “I think we’re a five-chili-pepper couple.”
“Actually, we’ve been more like a three-chili-pepper couple so far.”
I sit up straight, genuinely offended. “Wait, seriously? We’re not even at the top of the spice scale? You’re telling me the fictional characters in your books are hotter than us?”
“Well, yeah, Logan—but they’refiction.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Not acceptable. You need to tell me the five-chili-pepper stuff they do right now because we’re doing it tonight.”
She’s laughing now, clearly enjoying my competitive streak. “All right. I think I could be down for that.”
“Good,” I say, still mock offended. “Because there’s no way some words on a page are going to be hotter than us.”
She pats my arm, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re right, babe. We’re definitely the hottest.”
“Damn right we are.”
She picks up her book again, grinning. “I have another spicier book back at the hotel. When I finish this one, I’ll start that one and take notes for you.”
“You do that,” I mutter, lying back down and pulling my hat over my face, smiling.
“Babe?”
“Yeah.”
“Just so you know,” she says. “No words on a page could ever compare to what we have because what we have is real.”
I reach over and squeeze her knee. “I know. But you’ll still research for us?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
After an hour of snoozing by the water while Tessa finished her book, we rode our bikes to Fort Mackinac. Everything I do with Tessa feels special—not only because I love her but also because I get to see the world through her eyes. I’ve toured plenty of old forts before. As a kid, I remember walking through the one in St. Augustine with my parents, pretending I understood the cannons and uniforms and battle strategy. But Tessa didn’t grow up with trips like that. So even though a historical fort tour wouldn’t normally rank high on my excitement scale, today it mattered. Because it was with her. Every plaque she read and every question she asked felt like a fun discovery. She makes me feel like a kid again.
She lit up at the cannon demonstration, jumped when they fired it, then immediately wanted to know how often they had to clean the barrel. She was full of questions, asking the tour volunteer one after another. It was amusing and made me see the place differently.
Before heading back to the hotel for dinner, we climb into a horse-drawn carriage for a ride through downtown and the quietresidential streets of the island. Our driver, Al, is in his sixties with a weathered face and an easy smile. He’s full of charm and endless trivia about the island and the people who call it home year-round.
“Doesn’t it get incredibly cold during the winter?” Tessa asks, leaning forward, completely invested in his answers.
“Oh yeah,” Al says with a nod. “Lake effect snow, wind coming off the straits. But we’re used to it. You grow up here, you learn to layer.”
“There can’t be many kids who live here year-round,” she says.
“Not a ton,” he replies. “But we’ve got a school. All grades in one building. When I went through, there were only four other kids in my class. Wouldn’t trade it for anything, though.”
Tessa smiles at that. “You surely can’t ride bikes to school through all that snow.”
“That’s the fun part,” Al says, his eyes crinkling. “In the winter, we switch to snowmobiles.”
He says it like it’s the greatest perk in the world, and the delight on Tessa’s face makes me laugh.
“That actually sounds amazing,” she says.
“We keep a few horses on the island through winter,” he continues. “The rest head to the mainland after tourist season and come back in the spring. Winter’s quieter here. Hardly any visitors. Just locals. Whole different feel to the place.”
