Somehow every time I’d stayed over, we’d had something to do early the next day. It was usually a work night, and we’d fallen into a little bit of a routine. We’d wake up late, get up later, and scramble to get clean and dressed. He’d nearly forget his tie, then shove it in his pocket on the way out the door. I’d chatter incessantly while I put on makeup in the visor mirror. And he’d drop me off a few blocks from my work.
But this is better.
We wake up late, get up later, and it’s fine. We have brunch in the sun, and I drink too much coffee. A walk, a streetfair, a farmer’s market. A walk down the park. Deciding not to see a movie, it’s a nap instead. We only get up because we’re so hungry. Delicious dinner. Only go home because I have to some time. I guess.
This is almost too easy.