The Cabin at Lake Bled – Part 1: The Key

The cabin was smaller than the photos, with a creaking porch, a woodstove and a single wide bed under a window that looked straight out on Lake Bled.

"One bed," said Sara.

"There's a sofa," said Marko, standing in the doorway with the bags.

"Do you want the sofa?"

He thought about it, seriously, for about two seconds. "No."

She laughed, and he laughed, and the weight of twelve years of school runs and spreadsheets slid off her shoulders like a coat.

They had not been alone for a night since the baby. Marko had arranged it all in secret: her sister with the children, the cabin, a hamper from the village. He was thirty-eight, with grey in his beard now, and the same awkward, sincere eyes she had fallen for at nineteen.

"You planned this," said Sara.

"I did."

"You, who forgot our last anniversary entirely."

"I made up for it with the hamper."

On the porch, they ate cheese and cherries and bread and watched the mist move across the water. The little island church stood on its rock like a drawing, and a rowing boat slid slowly by.

"Can I ask you something?" said Sara.

"Yes."

"When did we stop talking like this?"

Marko was quiet. "Somewhere between the nappies and the car insurance," he said. "I'd like to start again."

She reached across and took his hand, calloused, familiar and warm. "So would I."

"Green?" said Marko, softly, the old private word.

"Green," said Sara. "Very green. Open the wine, husband."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Lake at Night.