The Tiny House – Part 2: Loft Bed

The storm grew through the night.

The forest roared. The wind came in great rushing waves, bending the firs, shaking the little cabin until the windows rattled. Rain lashed the roof in a steady metallic drumming. The wood stove glowed orange in the dark. The kettle ticked on the iron plate.

Priya lay in the loft bed, under a heavy quilt, with her head on Daniel's shoulder. The ceiling was a foot above her nose. A small lamp threw a warm circle on the wooden beams. The whole world had shrunk to a snug, creaking nest.

"It's like being in a boat," she said.

"A very small one."

"A very warm one."

"Are you afraid?"

"Not at all." She turned her head. "Are you?"

"Terrified. Of the roof. Not of this."

She laughed softly. His arm tightened round her. Outside, a branch thumped against the wall. The stove clicked. For a long minute, neither spoke, listening to the rain.

"I forgot," said Priya, "how much I like being near you."

"I forgot you have a freckle behind your ear."

"I've had it for thirty-eight years."

"I'd forgotten."

"Can I ask you something?" said Daniel, a little hoarse.

"Yes."

"May I kiss my wife? In the smallest bed in Oregon?"

"Yes," said Priya. "And if I say stop, you must go down the ladder for water."

"In the rain?"

"The tap is inside."

"I'll go every time."

He kissed her, slow and warm, a hand rising to her loosened braid. She kissed him back with thirteen years of fondness and something new, her fingers curling in his flannel. The wind howled. The roof drummed. The little lamp glowed over them like a star.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Priya. "Very green."

They rent the tiny house every October. It has never stopped raining. They have never once wanted it to.

More married couple romance: The Cruise · Couples Retreat · The Second Honeymoon