Have you ever heard of someone saying:
12:30 on a Saturday afternoon hits different when you’re expecting somebody.
JP had been up since ten. Cleaned the apartment not a deep cleaned, just company clean. Straightened the couch pillows.
Took out the trash from two days ago that had gotten out of control. Lit the candle on the kitchen counter, then blew it out because he didn’t want it to look like he was trying too hard, then lit it again because the apartment needed it.
He put on a t-shirt and sweats. Then changed into a better t-shirt. Then said forget it and took the shirt off entirely.
At 12:28 he heard the hallway door slam at the end the hall.
Then the knock.
He waited four seconds — trying to put his shirt on — then walked to the door. He ran a hand over his face and chest. Cracked the door open.
There was Nia.
Fitted jeans. White crop top. Hair pulled in a ponytail. Smelling like something sweet that you could just eat right there at 12:30 in the afternoon.
She had a small bag on her shoulder and that same expression she always had when you know you fine — not arrogant, just confident.
Her eyes dropped straight down.
Then came back up slow.
She tilted her head and looked at him standing there in nothing but his midnight blue boxers like he had answered the door of a five-star hotel.
“I should’ve came in my bra and panties,” she said, “since you in your boxers.”
JP didn’t miss a beat.
“It’s never too late to change your finest attire.”
A half second of silence — then they both laughed at the same time.
She stepped in shaking her head and he opened his arms and she walked right into them like the time hadn’t been as long as it was.
He held her tightly and little longer than a regular hug. She let him. Her hands were flat against his back and his chin was at her temple and for a second neither one of them said anything because there wasn’t anything to say that the hug wasn’t already handling.
When they let go from the hug she looked around the apartment.
“Oh, you cleaned up.”
“So fresh and So clean.”
“JP.”
“Okay I cleaned up.”
She laughed again and dropped her bag on the chair by the door. He closed it behind her and they walked over and sat to the couch.
She tucked one leg underneath her. He sat close but not all up on her.
The candle was doing its thing on the counter with the mix of afternoon light that was coming through the half closed blue blinds.
It felt easy. Dangerously easy.
“Eight months,” she said.
“Eight long months,” he replied.
“And you open the door in your boxers.”
“And you walked right on in.”
She looked at him sideways.
“Don’t read into it.”
“Too late.”
She grabbed one of the couch pillows and put it in her lap.
Outside, the city was doing its Saturday thing — noise, somebody’s music from the next building. But in here it was quiet and warm and smelled like that candle and whatever she had on, and JP wasn’t in any rush to be anywhere else in the world.
“You hungry?” JP asked.
“Depends on what you got.”
“I can put something together.”
She looked over at him, and something in her eyes said she wasn’t just talking about food anymore — or was she. Either way she didn’t look away and he didn’t either and the afternoon went on in front of them like it had all the time they had wasted and then some.
“Okay,” she said finally, soft.
“Okay,” he said back.
To be continued…