A quiet weekend that whispered everything I needed to hear.
There’s something about a Sunday you weren’t supposed to have. A half-day that feels borrowed, precious—like the world gave us a secret and told us not to waste it.
We wandered into a little shop that sells everything. A blue bucket for Luca. A snorkel and mask for Tilly. Bright plastic tokens of childhood joy. We grinned like thieves, filling the car with next weekend’s promises—sun, sand, and small hands building memories.
Then: heat and water. The Hot Haus sauna melted the week from our shoulders, and the bathing pools brought us back to ourselves. We swam, we laughed, we floated in silence. You held me in the water like I belonged there—like I belonged to you. And in that quiet, I did.
At home, music played. A pre-dinner drink, bare feet in the kitchen, the kind of soft flirtation that doesn’t need effort anymore—it just is. You looked at me like I was the only thing you needed to taste all evening. And I felt it.
Dinner at Balthazar. Beef Wellington, velvet-rich bone marrow gravy, rosé blushing in my glass, rum warming your grin. You touched my hand mid-laugh, and I felt fourteen again, falling for you for the first time.
Then RED—because we never say no to one more. Cocktails, too many. Each drink an invitation to misbehave just a little more. We were giddy. Playful. A bit drunk on each other before we ever left the bar.
Home again. And the rest of the night belonged to us—skin, laughter, whispers, the slow burn of everything unspoken but deeply known.
This morning moved like honey. No alarms. No hurry. Just soft limbs tangled under warm sheets. We made love like there was no clock. And maybe there wasn’t.
I made breakfast—sausage and bacon rolls that tasted like comfort. Then a walk, quiet and easy. Another swim, salt-kissed and lazy. We came home, wrapped ourselves in the stillness, and just held on.
These are the moments that make a life. Not grand gestures or polished photographs, but the ones where love lives in the small things— a blue bucket, a second cocktail, a morning where nothing is expected except to stay close.
This weekend didn’t ask for fireworks. It gave us something better. It gave us us.