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:
islainthestream Sometimes life misses the memo about sending you lemons and sends you a week of lockdown instead—but we’ll make it through. Take some time to breathe. Drink a cup of tea. Remind yourself about all the good things you can still enjoy . . . like quiet mornings with the sunrise before work. Stay safe, my lovelies.
I stay on the balcony a little while longer, relishing the peace and quiet. This balcony, this view over the grounds of London Lane and the nearby park and streets, was the reason I bought this apartment.
I couldn’t afford somewhere with a garden, but this is definitely the next best thing. Actually, it’s a bit of a stretch to afford it every month, but this part of my day always reminds me why it’s worth it. This, I think, is my definition of mindfulness.
Heading back inside once I finish drinking my tea, I make breakfast, and decide to make some for Danny too. I’m not a very good cook, but I do know how to make a good poached egg. And I’m very skilled at making perfect toast. I even add some bacon to a frying pan, thinking how much Danny will love it.
It’s only when I’m plating it up that I think this might backfire horribly, and I hope he doesn’t expect this sort of thing all the rest of the week too.
I put our breakfast on the dining table and go to get Danny. He’ll be starting work in twenty minutes, so I expect to find him dressed and ready to start his day.
He’s awake, but that’s about all I can say for him. He’s still in bed, not even having combed his hair yet.
“I made breakfast,” I tell him, not really sure how to deal with this lazy creature I’ve yet to become familiar with. “If you want.”
“I thought I smelled something good. Worth waking me up for,” he says, cracking a smile even though he’s still bleary-eyed. He yawns widely, rubs his hands over his face, and finally gets out of bed.
He pauses in the doorway to kiss me, and I melt against him.
See? I tell myself. This week is going to be just perfect.
*
After breakfast, after we’ve both logged on to our computers for work, I decide to use a break between my meetings to sort out the food shop.
I saw what people were saying on social media this morning: the stay home messages are starting to scare people, supermarkets suddenly seem scarier than skydiving, and food delivery slots are beginning to fill up even for people who aren’t literally trapped in their own building. I’m scared if I put it off much longer we won’t get a delivery at all.
Danny leans over my shoulder at the dining table, after setting down the cup of tea he’s just made me, and asks, “What’re you doing?”