“Oh, Taylor!” She cried as we entered the lobby with our suitcases. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember it!” The lobby had a fire going in the fire place already, the logs crackling softly but audibly. There were a few guests lingering around, some drinking coffee in front of the fire, sitting on the couches or in an armchair. The lobby had the feeling of a ski lodge, a wooden planked floor with a gorgeous embroidered rug in front of the fire place. Above the fire place was a portrait of the mountain range in which the Inn was named after. The lobby smelled of cider and maple sugar, two of the sweetest smells around this area of New York. The concierge and reservation desk was located to the
right of the front door as the inn’s guests walked in, set up in the same comfortable manor. The people that worked there added to the home-like atmosphere.
“Let me go check us in,” I said to my wife, brushing a strand of hair away from her excited eyes. She half bolted towards the fire place and sat down in an arm chair, picking up a leather bound book from the coffee table right next to the chair.
“Welcome to Bear Mountain Inn,” the desk worker said warmly, “how may I be of service?”
“Hi,” I said to her, “my name is Taylor Hanson. I have a reservation for two for tonight.”
“Oh yes, sir, you’re right on time.” She walked over to the rack of keys and took two from the wall. “You specially requested to be in room 310.” I nodded and she handed me the keys. “Here are your room keys. Everything is set up exactly as you requested.”
I smiled, “thank you so much.”
“And you’re paying credit on Sunday afternoon.”
I nodded, “correct.”
“OK, you’re all set, enjoy your stay with us.”
“Thank you!” I took the keys from the counter and turned, picking up my and
Clare’s bags from the ground next to my feet. “Come on, babe.” I nodded towards the elevator with my head. Clare rose from the chair and followed me into a waiting elevator.
“What room are we in?” my wife asked as the elevator started up.
The doors opened on the third floor. “This is us.”
Clare grinned at me and threaded her arm through mine. As I lead her to room 310 she squeezed my arm tighter. “I can’t believe it,” she said in amazement when we stopped in front of the door. The room was the last room on the floor, all the way down at the end of the hallway, one of the biggest rooms in the hotel.
I put the bags down on the floor and opened the door to the room. Clare was ecstatic when she saw what I had done inside of the room. I called ahead and asked for a fire in the fireplace, and for room service to put our dinner inside in the living room in front of the fire. The room was set up so that when the door opened you could see the fire place in the living room, which was connected to the bedroom. There was no actual distinction between the two rooms, the bedroom was really an extended living room, and vice versa. The living room resembled the lobby downstairs, with a couch and two arm chairs set up in front of a coffee table in front of the fireplace. The bedroom had a king sized bed which sat in front of a door that led out onto the balcony. The only actual separate room was the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. The whole room was wood paneled, with rugs on the floor that extended maybe two thirds of the bedroom and only under the table, couch, and chairs in the living room. The bathroom was very modern with a huge massage shower that doubled as a normal shower and a Jacuzzi tub.
The room was lit very lightly, the fireplace taking the job as the main light
distributor. Room service had left a bottle of champagne in a tub of ice on the table in front of the couch, with two champagne glasses, and two lit candles. In the center, behind the tub of ice, was a single red rose.
“Shall we?” I asked Clare. She started to take a step into the room but I quickly stopped her. “No, no, not like that.” I leaned down, putting one hand under her knees and the other behind her back and lifted her up.
“Taylor?” She squealed, grabbing onto my neck. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Carrying my wife across the threshold,” I explained, stepping into the room. I laid her down on the bed and ran to get the bags. I closed the door behind me and tossed the bags to the foot of the bed. I hung up my suit jacket on the bedpost carefully.
Clare was leaning on her elbow watching me. She laid down on the comforter on her back when I knelt down and kissed her. I moved with her body and wound up on the right side of the bed. We kicked off our shoes and kissed. “Mmmm I love you,” I said, not taking my lips off my wife’s.
“I love you, too,” she breathed. I moved onto my stomach, ending our kiss, and smiled at her. “What?” She asked, leaning on her right elbow, looking down at me.
I reached over and smoothed her hair from her forehead, “I was just remember the first time we were in this bed.”
Clare giggled and nodded, dropping onto her back. I moved over her, keeping my body pressed against the comforter but my chest on top of hers. My wife sighed lovingly with the memory, “how old we were we? 19?”
“I think I was 20,” I told her. “You might have been 19.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day 2003. Wait- that means you were almost 20.”
“Ohhh yeah. I would have been 20 in a month.”
“That’s right.” Clare started giggling like she was about to tell a joke but couldn’t get it out before she laughed. “We consummated our marriage early.”
I chuckled and kissed her fingers, “that we did.”
“That food smells delicious,” she commented.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
I slid off of her and down onto the floor. I stood up and lifted the cover off the tray of food. “Here we have some fresh, home made lasagna, with some perfectly cut Focacia bread. Next, is some fried mozzarella and breaded chicken breasts.”
“Yummy,” Clare commented, sitting up on the bed. She walked towards me, leaving the shawl on the bed and her heeled shoes on the floor. She wrapped her arms around my waist while I served two plates of the dinner and placed them on the table next to the champagne glasses. We sat on the rug at opposite ends of the table in front of the fire. I popped the cork on the bottle and poured some champagne into the waiting goblets.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said to my wife, linking my elbow through hers from across the table.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she confirmed.