“So that’s why he called it the ‘Irrigation Room.’” Jim chuckled as he tapped the pipes hanging in front of him at eye level.

“I wouldn’t touch those pipes if I were you. It might burst and flood the room. With sewer water.” She surveyed the room. “I can’t believe it’s our first night away together, and it’s on Dwight’s Beet Farm!”

“Well, if I remember correctly, this was your idea.” He shrugged and smiled.

“Oh, come on, you knew we couldn’t pass up this opportunity. We’re going to make wine. Out of beets. And then the tablemaking, Jim. Tablemaking.  It doesn’t get more romantic than that.  Hey, what are you doing?”

Jim looked up at her from the end of one of the twin beds. “I’m pushing our beds together. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“No, leave them. It would disrupt the room’s feng shui.”

He froze mid-shove. “Feng shui? Are you serious?”

She nodded, her barely suppressed laughter threatning to spill out any second. “I never joke about feng shui.”

“So, let me get this straight. Our first ‘romantic’ weekend away, and it’s at Dwight’s Bed and Breakfast, and we’re not even sleeping in the same bed.”

“It’s Agrotourisim, Jim. And don’t worry, there’ll be other getaway weekends.”

He opened the door and let her pass first, “Yes there will, Pam. Yes there will.”