I grab our bags from the backseat and climb out, heading for the porch. The boards creak under my shoes as Hunter follows behind. A lockbox dangles from the railing, just like the rental company said. I punch in the code they texted me, flip it open, and fish out the key.
I unlock the door and swing it open. A rush of cool air greets us, carrying the faint scent of old wood. With one hand resting on the small of Hunter’s back, I guide him inside and close the door behind us.
The cabin is rustic but beautiful, like something out of a postcard. A small kitchenette sits neatly in the corner, complete with a sink, a two-burner stove, and a mini fridge. A leather couch anchors the living room, resting on top of a tribal-patterned rug. Sunlight filters through wide windows, offering glimpses of the lake glimmering beyond the trees.
I haul our bags up the narrow staircase to the loft, where a king-sized bed sprawls across the center of the room, topped with a red plaid comforter. A pair of thick, polished logs serve as nightstands.
Hunter glances around with wide eyes. “Holy shit. This is incredible.”
“You haven’t even seen the main attraction,” I say, grinning as I grab his hand.
He gives me a puzzled look. “Main attraction?”
“You’ll see.” I lace my fingers with his and lead him back downstairs, out the back door, and into the woods.
A narrow trail winds through the trees, and we follow it in comfortable silence, the forest alive with the chorus of birdsongs and the crunch of leaves beneath our shoes. The air smells fresh and damp, like moss and rain.
When we reach the shoreline, a peek of vibrant green slips through the brown forest floor. A cluster of slender leaves rise from the ground like swords. Hunter stops in his tracks, his breath catching.
“We missed the bloom period already,” I murmur. “But they’re Dwarf Lake Irises.”
His throat works as he swallows hard, eyes locked on the plants. I can’t read his expression, and panic prickles at my chest. Maybe he thinks this is stupid—that I dragged him out here for nothing, to show him his favorite flower when it’s not even blooming.
“How did you know these were here?” he asks, voice low and quiet. “They’re so rare.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “My boss’s friend is a park ranger. I reached out, and he told me about this spot. I just… I’m sorry they’re not in bloom anymore. Apparently they only flower in May and June, so—“
I don’t get to finish. Hunter surges forward and kisses me, hand snaked around the back of my neck. His lips crash into mine with a hunger that leaves me dizzy, his whole body pressed against me.
“Thank you, sunshine,” he mutters against my mouth, his breath hot and warm. “For taking me here. For remembering my favorite flower. For… everything.”
I stare down at him, trying to sear his fond expression into my memory. I want to tell him that I’ll take him back here next spring when the irises are in bloom, but that would be a lie.
Instead, I kiss him again and appreciate this moment for what it is—beautiful and tragic and fleeting, all at once.
Chapter Thirty-Four
After dinner—veggie kabobs cooked over the fire—we wander along the shoreline as the sun sinks low. The sky blazes pink and gold, mirrored in the rippling lake. Hunter looks impossibly beautiful in the soft light, cheekbones carved sharp by the fading glow.
His hand is warm in mine, swinging gently with each step.
“Did you know the beaches of Lake Michigan have singing sands?” he asks suddenly, breaking the hush of waves.
I blink at him. “What?”
“Singing sands,” he repeats. He slides his bare foot across the beach, and the sand squeaks—high-pitched and airy, like a whistle.
Curious, I drag my heel across the surface. The grains chirp beneath me, and I stare down, puzzled. I’ve lived on Lake Michigan my entire life and never noticed.
“It’s caused by the high silica content,” Hunter explains, catching the confused expression on my face. He looks away almost immediately, cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
I shake my head and grab his hips, tugging him against me and latching onto his lips. His breath stutters into the kiss before relaxing, soft and pliant. When we break apart, his eyes are wide and shining.
“Don’t apologize. It’s sexy when you talk like that,” I tell him.
His throat bobs. “Like what?”
“Like a nerd.”
