It was a moonless evening and where there were usually sweeping views of Lake Huron along the route, there was only flat darkness stretching toward an invisible horizon. I had the music turned up loud and the windows halfway down. The invigorating cold air rushed in and kept me alert as I drove on the dark road. When I reached the one stop light in the village of Lexington, I popped a piece of peppermint gum in my mouth and reapplied lip balm, adding an extra layer over the split in my lower lip that seemed to never completely heal in the winter. Five minutes to go.
I slowed once the headlights illuminated a huge pair of pink and yellow flip flops, which seemed out of place sticking out of the snow. The driveways were long and the homes at the end of them hidden from the road, so the owners marked their driveways with creative landmarks for easy identification. After the flip flops, there was a propane tank tipped on its side and painted to look like a pink pig, and a then life-sized bear carved from a tree trunk. Then finally the sign for Whispering Pines, modeled after a summer camp sign with a playful retro font. If I reached the aluminum canoe with a "Huron Lake Time" sticker on the side, I'd gone too far.
My heart still raced when I skipped up the porch steps to the cottage. Pete said I could always let myself in, but it was worth standing out in the cold for an extra minute or two to see the look on his face when he swung open the door. I'd never get enough of the way he smiled and how his deep brown eyes lit up when he saw me, and seeing him in the doorway was like capturing the moment in a picture frame.
I knocked and shivered and then Pete appeared, took me by the hand and pulled me into the warm glow surrounding him.
"Sorry-I'm-late," I said in between kisses. "Wardrobe issues."
"It's alright," he muttered against my mouth.
I held his face in my cold hands and he inhaled sharply through his teeth, overlapped my freezing fingers with his rough, warm palms and kissed me deeply. Once my hands thawed, he moved his to my wrists and turned them down so he could push my coat off and drape it over a chair.
With my hands buried in his hair and his grasping my hips, we shuffled backward into the kitchen table as we kissed. I shimmied onto the table and kicked my boots to the floor. One of them hit the floor with a thunk and the other landed with a more muffled sound. Pete's eyebrows drew together in a wince and I murmured an apology.
"I don't understand what you need steel toe boots for," he grumbled, feigning annoyance while he gazed admiringly at me.
Our eyes locked and it was still electric, like a shock that I almost feared would alter the rhythm of my heart.
"They're not steel toe," I said as I swung my socked feet, "They're just regular ol' Docs."
He looked at the clunky black boots with scorn before he crouched down to set them upright on the floor and his expression brightened when he noticed the long skirt I was wearing. As he slowly stood up, he skimmed his hands over my bare legs until we were face to face again and the skirt was bunched up over my lap. There was no way I'd give up functional footwear, but I'd happily trade pants for a skirt for moments like these. Without breaking eye contact, Pete pushed my trembling knees apart and I bit my lower lip until it split open in the usual spot and I tasted blood.
"Dang it," I said, blotting my lip with my fingertips.
Pete leaned in to kiss me again, the metallic taste of blood vanished, and my hips twisted in response to his hands brushing over my thighs. The table creaked and I tensed.
"We're gonna break it," I whispered.
"Nah, it's Amish made," he said in my ear. "Solid wood."
I snickered. "That's really hot. Tell me more."
