Chapter 10: The Cabin Honeymoon
The drive took five hours.
Five hours of highway, then two-lane blacktop, then a gravel road that wound up the side of a mountain like a scar. The trees got thicker. The air got thinner. The radio lost signal somewhere around hour three and neither of them bothered to fix it.
Adaeze drove. Elliot watched the landscape change.
"You're quiet," she said.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing specific."
She glanced at him. Then back at the road.
"That's a lie."
He didn't argue.
The cabin appeared suddenly—a dark shape against the gray sky, perched on a ridge like it had been dropped there by something larger. The porch sagged. The windows were dark. A single lantern flickered by the door.
"Jesus," Adaeze said. "This is it?"
"This is it."
"Did you Google this place?"
"I trusted the listing."
"The listing had three stars."
"Three and a half."
She parked. Killed the engine. They sat there in the silence, listening to the wind.
"Okay," she said. "Let's do this."
The ceremony took twelve minutes.
The notary was a man named Gary. Retired. Flannel shirt. Breath that smelled like coffee and cigarettes. He met them at the door of the cabin, shook their hands, and led them to a small table in the corner.
"You got the license?" he asked.
Elliot handed it over.
Gary looked at it. Looked at them. Looked at it again.
"You're young," he said.
"We know," Adaeze said.
"Everybody's young once." He shrugged. "You want the short version or the long version?"
"Short," they said together.
Gary nodded. Read something from a laminated card. Asked them if they agreed to the terms. They said yes. He told them to kiss. They kissed.
Then it was done.
Gary packed up his briefcase. Shook their hands again. Wished them luck. Walked out to his truck and drove away.
The taillights disappeared around the bend.
They stood on the porch. Alone. Married.
"Well," Adaeze said.
"Yeah."
"That was—"
"Yeah."
She laughed. He laughed. Then they went inside.
The cabin was smaller than the photos. One room. A bed in the corner. A kitchenette with a two-burner stove. A fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in years.
And it was cold. Bone-deep cold. The kind of cold that seeped through walls and settled in your bones.
Elliot found a pile of firewood by the hearth. He tried to start a fire. Tried three times. The kindling was damp. The matches were old. The flue didn't seem to work.
"Fuck," he said.
Adaeze watched from the bed. She was wrapped in a blanket. Her breath came out white.
"Try the champagne," she said.
He found the bottle on the counter. Cheap stuff. Warm. The cork broke when he tried to twist it.
"Fuck," he said again.
She laughed. It echoed in the small space.
"Come here," she said.
He went.
She pulled him onto the bed. Onto the musty quilt. Onto her.
"You're shivering," she said.
"So are you."
"I know."
He kissed her. Cold lips. Cold nose. Cold hands sliding under his shirt.
"That's freezing," he said.
"Sorry."
"Don't be."
They undressed each other slowly. Not because they wanted to take their time—because their fingers were numb. Layer by layer. Sweater. Shirt. Pants. Underwear. Until they were both naked in the cold cabin, breath fogging, skin pebbled.
"This is insane," she said.
"What?"
"All of it. The drive. The notary. This cabin. You."
"Me?"
"You." She touched his face. "You're insane for doing this."
"So are you."
"I know."
He pulled her closer. Their bodies pressed together. Her breasts against his chest. Her thighs around his hips.
"I'm still cold," she said.
"I can fix that."
He moved down her body. Kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her breasts. Took one nipple in his mouth and sucked until she gasped.
"That's better," she said.
He kept going. Kissed her stomach. Her hips. The inside of her thighs.
"Elliot."
"Mm."
"Don't tease."
He didn't. He put his mouth on her cunt and licked.
She arched off the bed. Hands fisting in the quilt.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He licked again. Slow. Deliberate. He found her clit with his tongue and worked it in circles. She tasted like salt and skin and something underneath that was just her.
"Don't stop," she said. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He didn't.
He slid two fingers inside her while he licked. Curled them up. Found the spot that made her legs shake. She was wet now—really wet—and he could feel her tightening around him.
"Elliot. Elliot. I'm going to—"
She came with a broken cry. Her whole body convulsing. Her thighs snapping shut around his head.
He kept licking until she pushed him away.
"Too much," she gasped. "Too much."
He crawled up her body. Kissed her mouth. Let her taste herself on his tongue.
"You," she said.
"Me."
She pushed at his chest. Rolled him over. Straddled him.
The cold was forgotten now. The cabin forgotten. Everything forgotten but this.
She reached down. Wrapped her fingers around his cock. Stroked him—slow, deliberate.
"I want to ride you," she said.
"Then ride me."
She positioned herself. Slick and ready. Sank down onto him in one slow, agonizing motion.
They both groaned.
"Fuck," she said.
"Yeah."
She started to move. Slow at first. Circling her hips. Feeling him inside her. Then faster. Longer strokes. Rising up until he almost slipped out, then slamming back down.
"God," he said.
She braced her hands on his chest. Her hair fell in her face. Her tits bounced with every thrust.
"Look at me," she said.
He looked.
"I want you to see this."
She rode him harder. Faster. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the small room.
"You're so fucking deep," she said.
"You're so fucking tight."
She laughed. Breathless. Then moaned.
He grabbed her hips. Helped her move. Urged her faster.
"That's it," he said. "That's it. Fuck me."
She did.
Until her thighs started shaking. Until her rhythm faltered. Until she collapsed on his chest, gasping.
"I can't," she said. "I can't."
He flipped her over.
Onto her stomach. Face pressed into the quilt. He pulled her hips up and pushed inside her from behind.
She screamed.
Not pain. Something else.
He fucked her hard. One hand fisted in her hair. The other pressed flat between her shoulder blades.
"You wanted this," he said.
"Yes."
"You wanted me to fuck you."
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard. Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."
He didn't.
The angle was different this way. Deeper. He could feel every inch of her. Every ridge. Every clench.
"Harder," she said.
He gave her harder.
The bed creaked. The wind howled outside. Neither of them noticed.
He was close. Too close. He pulled out.
She made a sound—frustrated, needy.
"Not yet," he said.
He flipped her again.
Onto her back. Hair spread out. Face flushed. Eyes dark.
He pushed back inside her.
This time slower. Deeper. He wanted to watch her face. Wanted to see what he was doing to her.
"There," she said. "Right there."
He found a rhythm. Steady. Relentless. He watched her mouth fall open. Watched her eyes roll back.
"Elliot."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to—"
"Me too."
"Together."
"Together."
He fucked her harder. Faster. Chasing it now. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.
"Now," she said. "Now. Now."
She came. A broken gasp. Her whole body shuddering.
He followed a heartbeat later. Buried himself deep. Spilling inside her with a grunt that sounded almost like a sob.
"Adaeze," he said.
"Elliot."
They stayed like that. Connected. Breathing. Sweating.
The cabin was still cold but they didn't feel it.
Finally, he pulled out. Collapsed beside her. The quilt was twisted beneath them. The fire still unlit.
"Fuck," she said.
"Yeah."
She rolled onto her side. Looked at him.
"We're married," she said.
"Yeah."
She traced the lines of his face with her finger. His forehead. His nose. His lips.
"You're stuck with me now," she said.
He kissed her palm.
"That's the point."
She grinned. Then she shivered.
"We should find blankets," she said.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
Outside, the wind picked up. The trees swayed. Somewhere in the distance, an animal called out.
Inside, they lay tangled on the musty quilt. Sweat cooling. Breathing ragged.
"I can't believe we did this," she said.
"What?"
"All of it. The drive. The ceremony. The—" She gestured vaguely.
"The sex?"
"The amazing sex. Yes."
He laughed.
"It's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"No, it's not."
She hit his chest. He caught her hand. Held it.
"I love you," he said.
The words hung there. Heavy. Real.
She didn't say it back. Not right away. Just looked at him.
Then she kissed him. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the frantic tearing from before.
"I love you too," she said.
He pulled her closer. She fit against him like she belonged there.
"Best wedding ever," she murmured.
"Better than the one we almost had."
"Way better."
She laughed. He felt the vibration through his whole body.
They found blankets eventually. Pulled them off the bed. Wrapped themselves up on the floor. Too tired to move.
The lantern flickered. Cast shadows on the walls.
"Cold," she said.
"I know."
"Should have started that fire."
"Should have."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
She closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed.
He watched her for a long time. The way her face relaxed. The way her mouth opened slightly. The way she looked like she belonged somewhere.
She belonged here. With him.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Didn't know what the drive back would feel like. Didn't know what they would tell people. Didn't know anything.
But for now, he had this.
Her body pressed against his. The cold cabin. The failed fire. The cheap champagne he never opened.
It was enough.
It was more than enough.
He closed his eyes.
The wind kept blowing. The cabin kept creaking. The world kept spinning.
And he slept.
He woke to sunlight.
Real sunlight. Streaming through the dirty windows. Making the dust motes dance.
Adaeze was still asleep. Still wrapped in his arms. Her hair was a mess. Her mouth was open. She was snoring—just a little.
He watched her.
The cabin looked different in the light. Smaller. Shabbier. The kind of place you'd rent for a weekend and regret.
But he didn't regret it.
She stirred. Blinked. Groaned.
"What time is it?"
"Early."
"How early?"
"I don't know. Nine? Ten?"
She sat up. The blanket fell away. She was still naked.
"Ten?" she said. "We slept for—"
"A long time."
"Jesus."
She stood. Looked around. Found her pants. Pulled them on.
"I'm starving," she said.
"There's a diner about twenty minutes down the mountain."
"How do you know that?"
"I Googled it."
She looked at him.
"Look at you," she said. "Planning ahead."
"I'm a married man now."
She laughed. Then stopped. Looked at him.
"We're actually married."
"Yeah."
"That's—"
"Insane?"
"I was going to say terrifying."
He sat up. The blanket pooled around his waist.
"What are you scared of?" he asked.
She thought about it. "Not you."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. Screwing it up. Becoming my parents. Waking up one day and realizing I made a mistake."
"You didn't make a mistake."
"You don't know that."
"I know you."
She looked at him. Hard.
"Yeah," she said. "You do."
She picked up her shirt. Pulled it over her head.
"Breakfast," she said. "Then we drive back. Then we figure out the rest."
"That sounds like a plan."
She found her shoes. Sat on the edge of the bed to tie them.
"Hey," he said.
She looked up.
"I meant it. Last night. I love you."
She held his gaze. Didn't look away.
"I know," she said. "I meant it too."
"Good."
"Okay."
She stood. Grabbed her keys.
"Come on," she said. "I'm buying you pancakes."
The diner was a hole in the wall. Ten tables. Big windows. Coffee that tasted like it had been sitting for hours.
They ordered pancakes and eggs and bacon. Ate like they hadn't eaten in days.
"So what now?" she asked. Mouth full.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—" She swallowed. "Do we tell people? Do we change our names? Do we get rings?"
"Rings might be good."
"My parents are going to freak out."
"Probably."
"I didn't even invite them to the ceremony."
"It was a notary in a flannel shirt."
"I know." She laughed. "My mother is going to kill me."
"Your father?"
"He'll just be confused. He's been confused since I was born."
Elliot sipped his coffee. It was terrible but warm.
"We can tell them when we're ready," he said. "There's no rush."
"You're not worried?"
"About what?"
"That this was a mistake?"
He set down his mug. Looked at her.
"I've spent two years afraid," he said. "Afraid of the future. Afraid of grief. Afraid of letting anyone in. You're the first person who made me want to stop being afraid."
She stared at him.
"That's the most words I've ever heard you say at once."
He smiled.
"I've been saving them up."
She reached across the table. Took his hand.
"Okay," she said. "No more fear."
"Deal."
They finished breakfast. Paid the bill. Walked out to the car.
The mountain road was winding and steep. The sun was high. The sky was blue.
She drove. He watched the landscape. The trees were greener now. The air was warmer.
"So," she said. "Where do we live?"
"My apartment is tiny."
"So is mine. And I'm getting kicked out of it."
"I still have the lease until June."
"Then we find a place."
"Okay."
"With a real fireplace."
"And a shower that works."
"And a bed that doesn't squeak."
"That's a lot of demands."
She looked at him. Grinned.
"Get used to it."
She turned on the radio. Found a station. Started singing along. Badly.
He leaned back. Closed his eyes.
The road stretched ahead of them. Long and winding. Full of unknowns.
But for the first time, he wasn't afraid.
They drove on.
The city appeared on the horizon. Gray. Tall. Familiar.
She dropped him at his apartment. Leaned over. Kissed him.
"Call me tonight," she said.
"I will."
"Tell your roommate. If you want."
"I will."
"Don't freak out."
"You're one to talk."
She laughed. Kissed him again.
Then drove away.
He stood on the sidewalk. Watched her disappear. Then went inside.
His apartment was quiet. That quiet buzzed. Hummed with the electricity of something new.
He checked his phone. A text from Maya.
"You okay?"
He typed back. "Yeah. Actually. I am."
Sent it. Then went to find his roommate.
He had news to share.
And for once, he wasn't afraid to share it.