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MOVING PARTY

T he Next Day

The day starts with a light breeze and the soft chime of bells as we step into the electronics store. I’m on a mission to pick out a laptop. As soon as my eyes fall on the gorgeous rose gold MacBook, I know it’s the one. There’s something about it that feels like an investment—not just in my writing, but in the version of myself that I want to become in Sunset Cay. I picture mornings at the beach, my fingers tapping away as the sun rises over the water, the laptop complementing the dusky rose and purple tones of the sunrise. Heaven.

I cradle the laptop in my arms, excitement bubbling up inside me, and turn to Timmy, who’s already smiling like he’s enjoying watching me fall in love with a piece of technology. “You like it?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“I love it!” I grin.

“Good. Now come to work with me,” he says, casually, as if it’s a normal part of our day.

I blink, caught a little off guard. “Are you sure I’m allowed to come with you?” I’ve never accompanied a partner to work, except for the one awkward situation where I dated a coworker—do not recommend, no go, do not do, will end badly, did end badly.

“Yeah. It’s like ‘take your girlfriend to work’ day.” He says it with his trademark smirk, the one where it’s tricky to decipher whether he’s being serious or trying to charm me into saying yes.

I laugh, but feel a twinge of concern. “Seriously, though? You won’t get in trouble?” I don’t want his boss to think I’m a stage five clinger who expects to follow him around and distract him from getting shit done. But at the same time, I can sit in a corner and work on my stuff while he fixes up the condo.

Timmy waves it off like it’s nothing. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ll even introduce you to my boss. Come.” His tone is so carefree that I feel silly for worrying.

I follow him, feeling the smooth rectangular laptop box in my hands. Apple does such a great job of making you feel special when you buy their brand-new products, like you’re treating yourself to something that you know will do exactly what’s promised. And now Timmy wants to spend the rest of the day with me.

It’s flattering he still wants to spend every waking moment with me, and it still makes me feel special. But, at the same time, a small part of me wonders if this is sustainable. I mean, how many times can I follow him to work without it becoming a problem?

He gestures for me to follow him, and we head into the admin offices in a hotel building.

His boss is nice, an attractive blonde woman with bright pink lipstick and smoky eyes. He introduces us, and she makes me feel welcome, although there’s a hint of something in her expression that I can’t quite put my finger on. She seems more amused than anything else by Timmy’s antics, watching him with a smirk as he launches into his usual no-filter commentary.

He jokes around like they’re old friends, and she tolerates it—maybe even likes it. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that bringing me to work every day might wear on her patience eventually. I don’t want to be the reason he gets in trouble .

After a while, she’s clearly done listening to his stories, and tells him to get to work.

After stopping by a convenience store, where Timmy picks up some hard seltzers—“In case we get thirsty,” he says with a wink—we head to the condo he’s fixing up.

I set up my new laptop while he tinkers away, tightening light fixtures, adjusting light switches, hanging prints.

I watch him as I type, noticing how much pride he seems to take in even the small tasks. I can’t lie—I find it super hot when a guy does even the most simple of handy tasks. He’s had three seltzers by the time I’m done with my first, but he’s not tipsy—just a bit more animated, cracking jokes and moving around the room with more energy than usual.

By the time he’s finished for the day, I’m feeling good, happy. Timmy’s work day has flown by, and we’ve had fun together. I feel included, like he really wanted me to be there. And it’s cute the way he showed off in front of me, showing me the tasks he was working on and how he focused on making sure he did everything just right. It’s the kind of day that makes everything feel easy, like we’re in sync.

The Next Day

I wake up to Timmy nudging me. “I want you to come to work with me again,” he says.

I hesitate. “Are you sure? I know it was okay with your boss yesterday, and she seems really nice. But she might get tired of you bringing me along every day. It’s kind of weird.”

Timmy frowns, looking genuinely hurt. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

“Of course I do!” I say quickly, sitting up. “I just don’t want to get you in trouble because you feel like you need to keep me entertained or anything.”

“Well, today I’m going to have you help me work!” He shrugs. “ We’re going to be moving boxes for one of her clients. You’ll get paid and everything.”

That makes me feel a little better. At least I won’t be standing around just lurking, and the idea of earning some extra cash is appealing. As will be getting some much-needed exercise.

So I agree, and soon we’re loading up the truck with heavy boxes, Timmy in his element, directing me where to put everything.

On the way, we stop at another convenience store, where Timmy grabs water and some flight-sized bottles of Fireball. I raise an eyebrow, but don’t say anything—this is just how Timmy is, a little extra, adding a little ‘fun’ into everything he does.

We make our way to a retro hotel right on the beach, and that’s where the real work begins. His manager’s client is setting up a condo here as an Airbnb, and our goal for the day is to get all the boxes into her unit. It’s hot and sweaty work, the kind of physical labor that feels both exhausting and rewarding. We haul boxes into the service elevator, and up long hallways and into the client’s condo, stopping every now and then to catch our breath. I’m grateful for the exercise, and for the fact I’m not just sitting around like yesterday.

At one point, we take a break. I notice that Timmy’s energy hasn’t waned a bit, despite the physical labor and the Fireball he’s been sipping. “Come,” he says, taking my hand and grinning, leading me to a secret elevator that opens up to a hidden floor with a panoramic view of the beach and the city behind it.

To the right of the elevator is a chapel, and I can’t help but laugh as he gets down on one knee, wearing my big floppy hat, a wifebeater, and a pair of my sunglasses. He looks ridiculous, like a knock-off Kid Rock, but there’s something about the gesture—playful and sweet—that makes me feel lighter. He’s always finding ways to make me laugh.

Afterwards, he takes me into the adjacent bar, ordering drinks while chatting with the bartender and enjoying the view. The bartender is friendly, and Timmy is in his element, chatting away with her about his friend’s cacao farm, and I’m learning more than I ever thought I would about chocolate-making. There’s a part of me that loves how comfortable Timmy is in literally any setting, how he turns every opportunity to show off or make connections. But there’s still that nagging feeling, like this can’t go on forever.

When our drinks are done and I’ve paid our check, Timmy’s boss calls to check in. He reassures her that we’re almost done and that we just have a few more boxes to move. The remaining boxes are quite heavy, and there’s no cart, so we haul them one by one, sweat dripping down my back as I shove the last of them down the long hallway to the condo. By the time we’re done, I’m exhausted but satisfied.

Once we’re finished, the client pays us in cash, and Timmy immediately hands me a little more than half of the money. I blink at the bills in my hand. A couple of hundred dollars. Not bad for a few hours of enjoyable work.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

He smiles and nods. “I really appreciate you helping me today. It would have taken way longer and been way less fun without you.”

“I had a good time, too.” I smile at him, although my muscles ache from the effort, and he leans over to kiss me.

I know this can’t last forever—going to work with him every day. His boss might tolerate it now, but what happens when she doesn’t? And what happens when Timmy can’t handle spending a day apart, even when it’s necessary?

For now, though, I push those thoughts aside and let myself enjoy the moment, feeling the weight of the cash in my hand and the warmth of his kiss on my lips.