An extension of the weekend.
We often schedule one or two evening sessions to make up for it.
Drifting back into dream land, I feel happier than I’ve been in a really long time.
Marco doesn’t believe in Mondays either.
For event planners and hospitality staff, this day is sacred.
A Sabbath of sorts.
His late morning yawn is followed by a twist and a stretch.
He turns to face me, eyes aglow as he recalls our wild, intimate night.
I press a kiss against his wrist, then another on his shoulder.
“So... that happened,” I say, rolling onto my stomach.
“It certainly did,” he smiles.
We spend the next few hours no more than arm's width away from each other.
Coffee and warm pastries from James Street.
A leisurely stroll through the park.
“I wish you didn't have to go to work.”
His sigh embodies how we both felt about being apart.
“I'll be done before you know it. Just a few hours today.”
I pull him close for one last goodbye before I leave.
???
Monday follows Monday.
Then another Monday after that.
Weeks begin to blur from one to the next, a blissful carousel of date nights, late nights and every spare moment spent together.
Work refuses to pause for either of us.
The constant hum of the tattoo machine threads through my days.
Sleeves rolled up, inspiration flows across skin.
The steady pressure of needle and ink.
Time seems to disappear when I’m immersed in this process.
Since the launch, I’ve barely had an hour where someone isn’t walking through the door.
But there’s only one face I want to see.
???
