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Dylan: Did you eat breakfast?
Marlow: Do Cheez-Its and a croissant count?
Dylan: Please tell me that’s not all you’ve had to eat today.
Marlow: I plead the fifth.
Dylan: Did you lock your front door?
Marlow: I did. ?? I’m walking into class now. I’ll talk to you later. I love you! ??
Dylan: Love you too, sunshine. ??
It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve talked to Marlow, and I’m feeling irritable.
I’m working from home today, and it’s depressing whenever I glance at her house and see her empty studio.The silence is suffocating, making me miss the sound of her playlist as I watch her hips sway to the beat of the music. I’m hard just thinking about her in those tight yoga pants and what I wouldn’t give to watch her fall apart beneath me right now.
My phone rings, and I immediately answer the video chat when I see who it is.
“Hey, sunshine.”
Marlow’s smiling face greets me. She’s styled her hair in a halo braid, and she’s wearing her floral overalls with a pastel tie-dye shirt underneath. Next to her is an easel displaying a canvas with a partially painted flower.
God, I miss her so much.
“Hi,” she sighs in relief. “I’m so glad I caught you.”
This time of day is a gamble, depending on my meeting schedule and if I’m working from home or flying to and from the city. Tonight Lola’s with my parents since I had to work late.
I glance at my watch to see that it’s 12:30 a.m. in Paris.
“What are you doing up so late?”
“I was practicing a new technique I learned in class today and lost track of time. I figured I’d try to call you before I went to bed.”
She has a smudge of red paint on her nose, and I’d give anything to be there in person to wipe it off and re-create the scene from her studio.
“How are your classes going?”
“Oh, Dylan, they’re incredible,” Marlow gushes. “It’s only been a week, and I’ve already learned so much. It’s a dream come true.” She pauses as a guilty expression crosses her face.
I hold my finger up to the camera. “None of that,” I warn. “You’re where you’re supposed to be, and I’m so damn proud of you. Now tell me, did you remember to eat dinner tonight?”
“I had the most incredible Boeuf Bourguignon tonight, thanks to you,” she says.
After she told me she was eating Cheez-Its for breakfast, I reached out to a client of Stafford Holdings who owns multiple restaurants in Paris. I arranged for regular meal deliveries to Marlow’s apartment, complete with handwritten sticky notes I overnighted so they could include them in the delivery.
While I can’t be there in person to care for Marlow, I’m committed to showing her she is cherished and loved, even when I’m thousands of miles away.
“Anything for you, sweetheart.” I watch as she chews on her lower lip, a sign that she’s usually nervous or has something she wants to talk about. “What are you thinking?”
“About how much I miss you.”
“Why don’t you show me?” I suggest with a smirk.
Since she’s been gone, we haven’t had a private moment, and I think we’re both desperate for each other.
Her cheeks flush before she hurries to the other side of the room to get another easel. She places it at the foot of her bed and sets the phone on it, giving me the perfect view as she unfastens the buttons of her overalls. I watch as she slowly tugs them down over her hips. They fall to the floor and she steps out of them.
