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When I land in Toronto on a recent Tuesday morning, I’m not exactly in the mood for a romantic retreat. If traveling alone isn’t enough, a fresh heartbreak makes the idea of a two-night stay at a luxe waterfront property — replete with “spectacular sunsets” and a massive ensuite primary bedroom — feel about as enticing as being trapped in a windowless room with fluorescent lighting.
But telling a “Heated Rivalry” fan that I’m dreading a free stay at the iconic lakeside cottage featured in the show’s sex-fueled season finale — for an exclusive first look before it opens to a select few on Airbnb — would make their eyes roll out the back of their head. The cottage has become so mythologized by the show’s rabid fandom that when bookings opened to the public, for a steeply discounted $183 per night, the site immediately crashed. My job granted me a winning ticket to the gay smut lottery: I have to go.
So here I am, in a rental Nissan SUV on Ontario’s Highway 407, en route to Muskoka Lake. At some point during the two-hour drive from the airport, Lily Allen blasting and rain softly drizzling, my mind goes back to my own failed relationship. The cottage, where Shane and Ilya are finally able to freely indulge in their years-long affair, wouldn’t seem like the ideal place to ease my thoughts. But at some point, I concede that my state of intense yearning is, in some ways, a natural fit for the mission at hand. What is the cottage if not a sealed container of emotional longing?
It isn’t until I near Muskoka that anxiety sets in. There is zero cell service. The road narrows, winding deeper into the forest. Birch and oak trees, still bare from winter, close in on either side. It’s beautiful, cinematic — but also feels as though I’m the main character in a schlocky horror movie. I can picture the headlines: 27-year-old reporter dies in a car crash, alone in the woods, on the way to the “Heated Rivalry” cottage. “Much too young.” “So much potential.”
And then, there it is: “Muskoka: Once Discovered, Never Forgotten.” Population: 66,674. After a 25-minute drive to the outskirts of town, I reach an unpaved path leading — up, up, up — to a remote enclave. There, in all its glory, is the stunning glass-encased lake house — instantly recognizable to any of the millions of fans left spellbound by the star-crossed love story of Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) and Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie).
I’m greeted by Jan, the director of Jayne’s Luxury Rentals, which has leased the property to Airbnb for the month of May. He says the cottage typically rents for $15,000 to $19,000 a week, but will likely be listed for at least $25,000 or more for future months. “I haven’t seen any crazy fans camping outside yet,” he jokes. “But I’m sure it’ll start soon.” I neglect to mention the viral TikTok I saw this morning of two fans who’d traveled all the way from L.A. to sneak a video of the cottage’s exterior.
The photos I’d glimpsed online do not do justice to the grand scale of the house — a 2,500-square-foot property that makes the term “cottage” feel like a misnomer. Floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the space with light, look out to a picturesque view of the lake. Architect Trevor McIvor, who designed the cottage in 2020, assembled the nine-room house with Douglas fir beams and columns that run through the ground floor’s flowing layout. The interior is clad in a warm palette of natural woods, stone and neutral upholstery. A vintage illustrated map of Muskoka hangs in the entryway, while large, Rothko-esque paintings line the walls.
But my sense of awe is soon overtaken by a lingering stench. Rather than the earthy aroma of sandalwood and florals that I had imagined, I’m faced with a sour, vaguely rotten odor — incongruous to the pristine, seemingly untouched space in which I’m standing. It’s subtle enough that I’m sure it’s just an unfortunate blend of cleaning products, but it does evoke, for a moment, the image of a dead animal lodged somewhere in the timber structure.
Jan leads me to the dining room table, a chandelier of exposed candle-style bulbs hanging overhead. In the show, it served as the setting of Shane and Ilya’s climactic dinner with Shane’s parents; now, it’s topped with a complimentary bottle of red wine and three Muskoka-branded hats (navy, red, white). I’m reminded that I will be staying in this palatial mansion by myself for the next 48 hours, and give Jan a shy smile as he walks me through a booklet detailing notable sights in the neighboring towns. A zipline park in Bracebridge. A rock-climbing gym in Gravenhurst. A boat tour in Bala.
As a “non-activity” person, these local attractions stir nothing in me except for the immediate desire to lie down. For some reason, I find myself slightly annoyed that much of the population finds so much enjoyment in such energy-exerting activity. I blame my mom who, when explaining her utter distaste for running, says that “endorphins make her depressed.”
I lie and tell Jan, “This is amazing, so much to do!”
After he leaves and I’m able to roam freely, the novelty of this experience finally takes hold. I can feel the pulse of “Heated Rivalry” at every turn. The heather-gray couch where Shane and Ilya promise to be honest about their feelings is now draped with a throw blanket printed with a topless photo of Storrie and Williams. In the adjoining kitchen, a granite-topped island holds an espresso machine and seltzer maker. Pale wood cabinetry is stocked with every kitchen appliance imaginable. I swipe the leather bar stools and get chills thinking of Williams and Storrie, in this exact spot, rehearsing scenes that would change their lives forever.
Up some stairs, I drop my luggage in the master bedroom, a window-wrapped cocoon where Shane and Ilya say, “I love you” for the first time. On the bed, two towels rolled tightly atop the pillows; in the corner, a primordial-looking brass sculpture, resembling an anthropomorphic tree; on the nightstands, two mushroom-shaped table lamps. I don’t bother changing out of my plane clothes before road-testing the mattress: a perfect balance of firm and plush. Next door, a shower tiled in charcoal gray marble is framed by a wall-spanning window overlooking the woods outside. It’s a shame no scenes were filmed here —I can vividly picture Shane and Ilya embracing under the rainfall shower head. It’s even more of a shame that I’m staying in this romantic ensuite bedroom alone.
Eager to take advantage of the nature I’m deprived of in New York City, most of my first day is spent on the back patio: a 400-square-foot waterfront hideaway where many of the finale’s most memorable scenes unfold. The fire pit where Ilya rests his head on Shane’s legs is now wrapped in a protective cover, puddles of rainwater pooled from the night before. I spot the grill where Shane makes a surplus of burgers (“The recipe was for eight. Leave me alone.”) and the lawn where they juggle a soccer ball while talking about their futures. Down a private stairway to the lake is the floating rock where they share a playful kiss.
Unlike the sun-soaked scenes in “Heated Rivalry,” grey clouds now hang low overhead. Still, I’m stunned by the beauty of the landscape. I hadn’t even heard of Muskoka a few weeks ago, and now it feels like the kind of place where, if I ever stumbled into a few million dollars, I’d immediately start my search for a second home. As I walk down toward the water, I can hear my breath in the vast silence, a reminder that I’m alone in the woods, at least 20 minutes from any real sign of civilization. I think back to Jan’s assurance that the area is so safe, most people don’t bother locking their doors. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is the perfect setting for a cabin-in-the-woods murder.
After double-checking the locks, I move back inside, where the uncertain stink from earlier has thankfully subsided. I prop myself on a couch in the Muskoka Room, a secondary living space tucked a few steps above the main floor. In the show, the couch faces a television where Ilya plays video games and later, distracts Shane with a blowjob during a phone call. In real life, the TV has been replaced by a large abstract painting mounted above an electric fireplace, a small geometric stone sculpture perched on the nearby side table.
As the sun sets, I realize I’ve barely utilized the majority of the sprawling property. I almost forget there’s an entire downstairs: two guest bedrooms, a master bathroom with a full-length bathtub, a private gym and an expansive home theater with reclining chairs. The many amenities, catered toward vacationing couples or large groups, are mostly wasted on me. For example: a remote-controlled TV rises from a countertop in the kitchen and swivels to the adjoining living room. But when alone, watching TV is an activity I find to be much more enjoyable on a laptop — in bed, horizontal.
In the center of the space is a monolithic granite fireplace. I briefly consider the unthinkable: building my own fire. I know myself, though, and besides being a “non-activity” person, I’m also severely lacking in rugged survival skills. In a moment of self-defeat (or self-acceptance?), I decide that I would rather not risk burning down one of the most famous properties in Canada.
As the light outside fades into darkness, each corner of the home begins to taunt me. I also realize I haven’t eaten since my morning pitstop at Tim Hortons. I leaf through the informational booklet to find a restaurant or bar where I can pass the remaining hours of the evening. The time has come for me to indulge in the type of activity I do unequivocally enjoy: eating, drinking. I land on a nearby pub, Frosty Pints.
The dingy sports bar, reeking of cigarettes, is bustling with locals — all men over the age of 50, save for two women — watching hockey (Boston vs. Toronto) on one of the six TVs. I wonder if anyone here clocks the parallel to Shane and Ilya’s Boston-Montreal rivalry. But looking around, everyone seems far more invested in the real-life game than the gay, smutty one that brought me here. “I’ve never seen it,” a young, blonde waiter says of the show, while others listen in with blank expressions.
One Pilsner in, thinking about my own hopeless love life, the promise of “the cottage” begins to feel like nothing more than a fantasy. But when an older couple at the bar tells me their love story, I realize Muskoka was seeped in romance long before “Heated Rivalry.” Cheryl and Bobby met here as teenagers — 14 and 15 — on a family trip. After losing touch for decades, and each marrying and divorcing other people, Cheryl sent a letter to his family’s old cottage in hopes of reconnecting. Against all odds, it reached his brother who relayed the message. They met up and “it was instant.”
Their faces scrunch in delight as they take turns sharing enchanting details about their life, pulling up photos on their phones. Married 20 years, they now live in their own cottage on Muskoka’s Kahshe Lake. They spin vinyl, have tea parties with neighbors, kayak every weekend, and receive frequent visits from a 100-year-old tortoise named Norman. They describe the bliss they experience here as “cottage brain.”
Neither has heard of “Heated Rivalry,” but they undeniably live in their own version of “the cottage.” When I tell them what the show is about, they laugh it off. “We’re not watching that!” they exclaim. “But I’m sure the scenery is just beautiful.”