An hour after their departure, Rosa, the head housekeeper, knocked on the door of the Rosewood Suite with her cleaning supplies. She’d been working at the inn for fifteen years and had seen everything—or so she thought.
“¡Dios mío!” she exclaimed as she pulled back the burgundy velvet blanket.
There, it laid between the crisp white sheets like some sort of modern archaeological discovery, was a rather impressive personal massager that the anniversary couple had apparently forgotten in their quick departure. But that wasn’t the shocking part.
The shocking part was the device was still on. The bed itself had somehow been transformed from a sturdy Victorian masterpiece into a very expensive piece of crappy art. The wooden slats that had supported the mattress for over a century were now hanging at odd angles, several of them snapped clean through the middle.
Rosa stared at the scene for a moment, then began to laugh. She laughed so hard she had to sit down on the (now slightly tilted) bed, which only made her laugh harder.
“Eleanor!” she called out, still laughing. “Eleanor, you need to see this!”
Eleanor appeared in the doorway, took one look at the bed, and gasped. “Oh my goodness. What on earth—” Then she spotted this device and her hand flew to her mouth.
“That middle-aged couple,” Rosa managed between giggles. “They were very… freaky.”
James appeared behind his wife, walking over to see what’s the commotion about.
He looked at the damage with the eye of someone who’d been dealing with antiques for decades. “Well,” he said slowly, “those slats are solid oak. They’re over a hundred years old. They don’t break easily.”
“They must have been pretty vigorous,” Eleanor said, trying to maintain her dignity while fighting back laughter.
“VERY vigorous,” Rosa added, holding up the forgotten device. “And they left evidence.”
The three of them stood there for a moment, looking at the collapsed bed and the abandoned personal massager, before James started to laughing. Then Eleanor joined in, and soon all three of them were laughing so hard they could barely stand.
“Thirty-eight years of marriage,” James wheezed, “and we’ve never broken a bed.”
“Clearly we’re not trying hard enough,” Eleanor gasped.
“Should we call them?” Rosa asked, still holding the device with two fingers.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Eleanor said quickly. “Can you imagine? They probably don’t even realize they left it. I’m sure they’re embarrassed enough about the swift and quiet exit they made.”
“Besides,” James added, wiping tears from his eyes, “I think they got their money’s worth out of it.”
As Rosa began the delicate process of cleaning up the aftermath of the couple’s romantic reunion, she couldn’t help but smile. In fifteen years of housekeeping, she’d found forgotten socks, jewelry, books, phone chargers and even dentures.
But this was definitely a first.
“You know what?” Eleanor said as she helped gather the broken slats. “I’m not even mad about the bed. If a couple can rediscover that kind of passion after twenty-two years of marriage, more power to them.”
“Although,” James added with a grin, “maybe next time we should mention the weight limit on the antique furniture.”
The forgotten device was discretely disposed of, the bed was repaired (with significantly sturdier slats), and the story became legend among the inn’s staff. And somewhere, a middle-aged couple was planning their next romantic getaway, blissfully unaware that they’d left behind more than just happy memories.