11 Nespresso

11 Nepresso

I’ve decided to become a good corporate citizen. Why pay for a hotel when my boyfriend’s apartment is a drive away. Besides, Ryan’s apartment has more “amenities” than the Marriott.

My first morning waking up in Thomas Point, the sunrise is captivating. The kind of sunrise that doesn’t just brighten the sky — it reveals it. Beautiful colors spill across Fishing Creek. If I had an artistic bone in my body, I would paint it. The water glistens, and a single moored sailboat gently rocks itself awake. The whole scene feels like it’s whispering, “Stay.”

A sunrise is a beautiful way to awaken, but Ryan also wakes me all night.

There is not much sleeping when I’m with Ryan.

My desires match his desires, and that’s a dangerous combination for REM cycles. I’ll tolerate the lack of sleep as long as there is coffee in the morning.

His in‑law apartment above the garage is furnished with a Nespresso. For a man who drinks green tea, I’m relieved to see the machine — and pods — sitting proudly on the bookcase like a peace offering to a body that’s been horizontal too long.

Then the horror: a fridge without milk.

Didn’t he imprint this?

I need milk.

I stand there, staring into the barren fridge like it has personally betrayed me. But I can’t be angry at a man who looks this good naked. I mean, truly — there are worse ways to be awakened than by a man who seems determined to make sure you never oversleep again.

He has other ways to awaken my body, and I calculate the exact number of minutes remaining before I’ll have to start my hour‑long commute to the office. It’s a delicate equation — passion divided by punctuality, multiplied by the square root of “I can shower and do make-up in 6 minutes.”

Don’t worry, I tell myself.

Enjoy yourself.

There is a Starbucks on the way.

And with Ryan smiling at me from the bed, sheets kicked to the foot of the bed, I decide that being a good corporate citizen can wait a few more minutes.

Maybe more than a few.