Mmmm… He called me honey. The word sounds amazing in his rich baritone.
“Are you going to head to bed?” I ask.
He lets out a yawn. “Yeah. I’m drained. But they told me tonight I’ll be back to my day shifts starting next week for good. They hired a couple of doctors who completed their residencies and they get the shit shifts.”
“Well, that’s good news. For you. Not so much for the new guys,” I mutter.
I can hear his soft chuckle and it makes me tingle in some very nice places.
“Yeah. Listen… I want to let you know I really like you, Hannah. And as soon as we can, I would love to take you on a formal date.”
Oh. My!
“I would love that,” I whisper.
“I’m glad,” he whispers back. “I’m going to shower and get to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, Alex.”
Day 70
“Oh God, don’t stop,” I moan. “You were just getting to the good stuff!”
“Chapter is done, honey. It’s also after midnight and we both need to be up early,” Alex says.
I cross my arms and pout like a three-year-old. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I mutter.
“True enough.”
“So, I hear they’re thinking of starting to reopen a bit,” I tell him.
“Things are finally calming down and people are getting wiser, so it seems reasonable.”
There is silence for a moment.
“The day they do open things up, we are going out on a date. It may not be sitting on a rooftop patio having drinks after a fancy dinner, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’d be happy to just sit on either my or your balcony so I can actually see you while we hang out,” Alex says, softly.
“I don’t need a fancy dinner or drinks on a rooftop patio, Alex. I just can’t wait to finally have this glass wall between us removed.”
It’s the God’s honest truth. For seventy-four days, we have been getting to know each other. And the more I know about him, the harder I fall.
True, we could have said to hell with it and set aside the rules and restrictions, but had we done that, aside from the risk, we wouldn’t have what we have now: an amazing foundation based on friendship.
That being said, I still can’t wait for the day I get to finally see him in person, hold his hand, and maybe kiss him.
“I can’t wait for that either,” Alex says, his voice gruff.
“I should get to bed,” I say as I stand up. I place my hand on the glass partition. “Goodnight, Alex.”
Alex lifts his hand and places it on the glass. “Sweet dreams, Hannah.”
And I do have sweet dreams, imagining my first date with Alex.
Day 87
“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod!” I chant.
“Jesus, Hannah,” my friend Cara laughs. “You act like you’ve never had a date before. And it’s not like you don’t know the guy.”
“I know, but this is so different,” I tell her. “I like him, Cara. A lot. You know what a dork I am. What if I spill his drink on him or get spinach stuck in my teeth?”
“Don’t order anything with spinach in it,” she deadpans.
“Why did I even call you?” I ask.
“Because I’m the only one who can calm your ass down. So, listen to me. This is Alex: the guy you have been getting to know for almost three months. You talk every day. He knows everything about you and he likes what he knows. So you have nothing to worry about,” Cara advises.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and slowly let it out.
“Thanks, Cara. That really helped. The tequila shots I have lined up on the counter will help even more.”
I hear her laugh. “Glad to be of service. Although, I’d advise against tequila. Perhaps vodka. You’re less apt to start disrobing in public places.”
“Fair point,” I concede. “Okay. I need to finish getting ready.”
“Get him, tiger,” she says before disconnecting.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. We’re just walking to Starbucks to grab coffee and breakfast and sit out on the patio. Since it’s a nice day, I opted to wear a little ruched jersey dress and some gladiator sandals. My hair is up in an artfully messy bun and I put makeup on for the first time in months. I grab my bottle of Viva la Juicy Noir and spritz a mist in front of me before walking through. I grab my clutch purse and my mask and toss a travel size bottle of hand sanitizer from my bathroom closet in, as well.
I hear a knock on the door. Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. It’s time!
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I walk to the door, my clutch in my hand. I turn the lock, open the door, and my knees go weak.
He looks positively edible in dark wash jeans, a white Oxford shirt untucked with his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.
“Wow,” he says, his eyes traveling slowly from head to toe. “You’re even more stunning in person.”
I press my lips together and turn my head to the side to hide my blush, whispering, “Thanks.”
“Are you sure you want to brave the outside world? I mean, a lot has changed in eighty-seven days,” he teases.
I turn back to him with a grin. “I have been out of the house, you know. I went to the LCBO just last week.”
“Well, then, you’re ready!”
I laugh at him. He holds his hand out to me, saying, “Don’t worry, I sanitized.”
That gets another chuckle from me as I take his hand and walk through my door. I close it behind me and lock up. Then I turn to face him. He uses my hand to pull me closer, putting his other arm low on my back to press me in deeper, before he leans down and kisses me. It’s long, slow, and absolutely delicious. When he pulls back a whisper away, my eyes stay closed a moment before opening them to find him staring down at me.
“Worth the wait,” he murmurs against my lips.
“So totally worth the wait,” I whisper back.
Quarantine Love
Jean Kelso, Edits donated by Maria Vickers
Getting diagnosed as immuno-compromised during a pandemic should scare me, but not with him becoming my living angel. — Quarantine Love
Quarantine Love
Celia
“With all your serious health issues, it is my opinion that you are in no condition to work during the pandemic.” Doctor Ahmed frowns as he gives me the news. “You are extremely high risk, and at the young age of twenty-nine, I do not wish to see you as one of the patients you care for on a daily basis.” He turns toward his computer.
The thought of not working, of not caring for people when they need me the most…how will I be able to do my part? My thoughts start to run as my heart pounds, and I stare at the doctor. “How long?”
My doctor stops what he is doing, and with sympathy in his eyes, he tells me that my health is unstable. I am in one hell of a flare-up from my Lupus and combined with the damage to my lungs from continuous blood clots, he fears if I contract the virus, I may succumb to it.