“Good idea. I’ll, um . . . ” Lucy stands up, phone in hand, gesturing toward the kitchen, looking desperate to do something proactive.
“Shall I start putting a bit of a grocery list together, then?”
“Knock yourself out,” I say. I stand stiffly in the center of the room, still surrounded by the carnage of our weekend-long sleepover, mourning my plans of cleaning up and relaxing for a couple of hours later this evening.
“I know you said we should make ourselves at home, Livvy,”
Addison jokes, twirling her long blond hair around one finger, her full, pink lips pulling up into a wide smirk, “but I’m not sure you meant for the whole week, huh?”
“Not exactly.”
Kim must catch the way I say it through my teeth, because she beams, standing up from the wedding favors she’s been unboxing onto the rug in my living room to grab my hands. “Oh, come on!
This is going to be so much fun, Liv! We’ll get so much done. Think of it as—as—wedding planning on steroids! It’ll make a great story for the bachelorette party, won’t it!”
Damn it, why can I never say no to her?
Then again, she’s been my best friend for almost twenty years. She bloody well should know exactly how to make me feel better.
I take a deep breath and grin back at her. “I’ll get the prosecco, then, shall I?”
Monday
apartment #15 – isla
Chapter Six
It’s nice to wake up beside Danny.
It’s eight minutes before my alarm, but instead of getting up straight away, I decide to spend that time lying in bed, hand tucked under my cheek, admiring my boyfriend.
In a noncreepy way, obviously.
He’s just so, so lovely. Those long, thick eyelashes resting against the olive tone of his skin—Spanish, on his mother’s side, he told me. The perfectly shaped cupid’s bow of his full upper lip that’s just so very, very kissable. There’s a small cluster of spots around his forehead, his curls are in complete disarray, and his nose does a weird twitching thing like he’s part bunny rabbit in whatever dream he’s having. Not entirely flawless, I think, but he’s all the more lovely for it.
I shiver a little and tuck myself into his side, stealing some of Danny’s body heat, resting my head gently against his shoulder.
I close my eyes, feeling totally and completely content.
Is this normal? I have to wonder. I know there’s always that glow at the start of any relationship, that bubble you get so wrapped up in where it’s all about sex and romance and making so much effort and gushing about them to your friends every chance you get, but—this feels different.
This feels like so much more than just a honeymoon period. I’ve never liked a guy this much, or felt so comfortable around someone this early on in a relationship. Not that I’ve got that many guys to compare Danny to, but the two or three that come to mind—they don’t even come close.
Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s because we’re meant to be, because we’re so perfect for each other.
The more I think about it, the more utterly perfect it is, that the building is on lockdown for the week, and Danny’s got to stay here.
This will be such a brilliant way to take our relationship to the next level, even if it is a little bit early. (Or, all right, a lot early.) It’ll be a great way to test if we’re really compatible.
It’ll be like the Love Island villa!
Only without the swimming pool and weird challenges and skimpy bikinis, or the snarky comments from a narrator.
My alarm beeps, and I roll over quickly to turn it off. Beside me, Danny groans, flopping onto his front and hugging his pillow to his face.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
“Six.”
He stills, head shifting until he can narrow one eye at me. “Shut up. You don’t start work this early?”
I laugh. “Of course not. Remember? I work out in the mornings, usually.”
He groans again, like this is an even worse concept than having to start work early. It’s not that Danny isn’t the athletic type, just that he prefers his workouts to be a team sport once or twice a week.
Before now, whenever we’ve spent the night together, I’ve skipped my early-morning workouts, but I really need it today, after the stress of finding out we’re on lockdown. It’s less embarrassing than my habit of spending hours in the evening scrolling through Instagram, at any rate.
Danny throws one heavy, muscular arm over me as I sit up, dragging me back down onto the bed. I giggle, allowing him a few seconds of cuddling before I ease myself away. I kiss the only exposed bit of his face I can see.
“Go back to sleep for a bit. I’ll be quiet.”
He grumbles, but the pillow swallows all of his words. I think for a moment he might’ve suggested an alternative sort of workout, but if he did, he’s obviously not serious: he nestles back into the sheets and hugs his pillow closer, maybe even already asleep again.
I smile at him once more before tiptoeing around my bedroom, popping on just a light layer of makeup (only some tinted moisturizer, a bit of mascara, a quick go-over with my eyebrow pencil) and I change into some workout clothes. Perks of being employed by a fitness company: staff discount and the occasional trip to the ware-house, where you get to nab some out-of-season freebies.
One major disadvantage of being shut up in my own apartment for a week with my hunky, brilliant boyfriend: I can’t go out for a run.
Ah, well, it’s only a week, I remind myself. Until then, there’s no shortage of workouts on YouTube. I even have a designated playlist for my favorites, for days when the weather’s too bad to go outside. I pick a Pilates one, pausing it while I do some stretches and warm up.
I hear noise from the bedroom and turn the volume down a little. Danny’s joked a couple of times about how he’s never been very much of a morning person, but . . . well, once you’re awake, how can you not get out of bed? And he’s got to get up for work, anyway, so I can’t be disturbing him very much.
But, even so, I think I ought to let him sleep. It’s the nice thing to do. He’ll be up soon enough, I’m sure.
My workout wraps up within half an hour and I’m midway through making a smoothie before I realize how loud the blender is going to be; maybe loud enough to wake up Danny, who still hasn’t gotten up yet. I sigh, leaving everything in it ready for later, and make myself a cup of green tea instead.
I take my mug out onto the balcony, collecting my journal on the way. It’s a gratitude journal my best friend, Maisie, got me for Christmas. I’m a huge fan.
Monday
Number 1 – I’m grateful for my gratitude journal, and lovely friends who know me so well
Number 2 – I’m grateful for my boyfriend, and the extra time I’m able to spend with him
Number 3 – I’m grateful for online workouts and my yoga mat
I close the journal and take a minute to meditate on it before I take a photograph of the view from my balcony, holding up my still-steaming mug of tea into the frame. I upload it to my Instagram Story first with a sticker in a curly font reading Monday, and then post the same photo to my grid with the caption: