It had only been four days, but it was four days too many. Don’t get me wrong; Thanksgiving was enjoyable but I found myself missing N more than I had anticipated. The weekends are usually reserved for us, and the lack of couple time had thrown me off balance. Luckily, N planned to visit when I returned to Los Angeles. During the flight home, I imagined swinging open the front door and coming face-to-face with him. My hormones would be firing and my smile would be too large to conceal, no matter the attempt.
I sped (probably too fast) on the freeway, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. Once inside my apartment, I began to tidy up. I gently fluffed the decorative couch pillows and arranged them in a neat fan shape. I wiped down the bathroom mirror so its reflection was razor sharp. And yes, I also cursed myself for not doing all of this prior to leaving for my trip. I’ve always valued presentation and firmly believe that the details matter. With that in mind, I slipped into a curve-hugging tank top and applied a fresh coat of body lotion (the scent that N loves). When my primping and preening concluded, I sat on the couch, anxiously awaiting N’s arrival. I was excited to see him, hug him… feel him. Then suddenly, a sharp sound interrupted that thought and my lips curved upward into a smile as I heard a familiar knock at the door.