A House That Knows How to Hold You

A Weekend at Gatsby’s – A Messy, Beautiful Little Escape

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with a house, but here we are.

I showed up at the Great Gatsby Bed & Breakfast with a small suitcase, a wrinkled book I half-finished two years ago, and more stress than I’d care to admit. There was something almost absurd about trying to “escape” from real life by going to a house inspired by a novel drenched in drama and longing—but maybe that’s what made it kind of perfect. Or stupid. I don’t know. But it worked.

The house isn’t perfect. The wood creaks. The wallpaper in the hallway is ever-so-slightly peeling at one edge. And my faucet squeaked when I turned it on. But somehow, all of that made it feel more alive. Like the place had a memory of things. Of people who stayed and maybe left little pieces of themselves behind, like forgotten earrings or a scribbled postcard jammed in a drawer somewhere.

The room I stayed in—Room 3, I think?—had this soft, slanted light in the morning that made me feel like I was inside a sepia photograph. The bed was way too comfortable and I may have slept more hours than is socially acceptable. I had big plans to write, to journal, to read that dusty book. Instead I sat by the window with a glass of wine and stared at nothing, which felt weirdly productive in its own way.

Breakfast… Oh god. The kind of breakfast that makes you question your life choices. Why don’t I eat warm scones and freshly picked strawberries every morning? Why does my coffee never taste like this at home? There was a sort of magic in those tiny moments—the clink of silverware, the murmured good mornings from other guests, the smell of butter and cinnamon drifting through the old wooden hallway.

There’s this myth that you have to go far to “get away.” But sometimes the best places are just a few hours away, hiding in plain sight. No flights. No frantic itineraries. Just a quiet drive and the courage to do absolutely nothing for a while.

I took a walk in the evening. The garden lights flickered a little, and the path was uneven and kind of muddy (I almost slipped, not gonna lie), but it didn’t matter. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet I couldn’t quite place—honeysuckle maybe? I don’t know plants.

There’s no grand ending to this. I didn’t have an epiphany or suddenly fix my life. But I left with a bit more calm than I came with. And maybe that’s enough. Actually… maybe that’s everything.

If you’ve been thinking about getting away, about finding a place that feels like a hug wrapped in antique wallpaper, maybe take a look at this little gem. There’s a reason places like this still exist, even if they’re a little rough around the edges. Or maybe because of that.

Anyway, I’m keeping the postcard I found in the room’s desk drawer. Don’t tell anyone.