When I arrive home, I come to a complete stop. On my doorstep lies a box. I pick it up and bring it inside, carrying it to the coffee table.
Opening it reveals a bottle of wine, my favorite chocolate, a bath bomb, and a note from him, making me an emotional mess.
Enjoy your Friday, flower girl.
Tears brim in my eyes. You’re wearing me down, Ian.
I can’t leave his note unanswered. It would be impolite.
I pour myself a glass of wine and go to the bathroom, hoping to unwind. As water fills the bathtub, I throw the bomb that explodes in a rainbow of colors, shimmering on the surface.
Getting in, I snap a selfie of myself submerged and holding a glass of wine. I send it with a text.
Thank you.
Tapping on the edge of the tub, I am a nervous wreck by the time he replies, even though it’s not even thirty seconds later.
I pick up my phone with trembling hands.
Glad you’re putting them to good use.
It would have been a waste.
Yeah, it would.
He hasn’t even been gone for an entire day, and I give in. I’m hopelessly in love with him.
I miss our friendship.
Thank god, I was low-key freaking out.
I giggle and we keep texting. My comatose insides revive, powering me back up.
After relaxing in the tub until my skin prunes, I step out, wrapping a towel around my head and drying myself with another. I put on a cozy bathrobe and carry my empty glass toward the living room.
My phone rings, and when I see it’s him, I pick up right away.
“Hi,” he says, voice raspy.
“Hi, how are you?” I ask, knowing it’s on me to take the next step.
He exhales loudly, the sound ringing with relief. “I’m in the hotel room, waiting for my food.”
I pour myself another glass. “I’ll wait, and we can eat together.”
“Let’s switch to FaceTime.”
When I see his beautiful face on the screen, I itch to trace my finger over his chiseled features.
I hear a knock, and he says, “One second. It must be my dinner.”
He places the phone on the table, propped against a vase. I watch him take the tray from room service and tip him. He’s bare chested and I gulp down the desire, fixating on his face. He’s a perfect male specimen, all potent strength and rippling muscles.
It feels as if our separation didn’t even happen. Just like that, we’re back to our regular intimacy. The familiarity between us is so strong, everything else disappears. Nothing else can penetrate the bubble we find ourselves in.
“I’ve missed you,” he says through a mouthful.
I place my half-eaten chocolate down. “Of course you have. I’m great to have around.”
