Later, she danced alone in the kitchen while chopping mangoes for a salsa. Not a real dance. A weekend dance: hips swaying, eyes half-closed, wooden spoon as a microphone. When the music shifted to something softer, she leaned against the counter, running a hand through her hair, watching the sunset paint the walls pink and amber.
She put on a vinyl record—something sultry, with a slow bassline—and lit a coconut-scented candle. The apartment smelled like summer and stillness.
Weekend vibes. That was the text from her best friend, Maya. You better be relaxing. 21Naturals - Sherill Collins - Weekend Vibes
Her phone buzzed. A text from a number she didn’t have saved. Hey, been a while. Saw you’re back in town. Drinks?
Tomorrow, maybe she’d go to the farmers’ market. Maybe she’d stay in bed until noon. Maybe she’d do nothing at all. Later, she danced alone in the kitchen while
Some weekends are for catching up with people. This one was for catching up with herself.
She poured a glass of natural wine, stepped back onto the balcony, and let the evening wrap around her like a secret. The city hummed below. Somewhere, a siren. Somewhere else, laughter. But here, in this golden bubble, there was only Sherrill—untethered, unhurried, unapologetically soft. When the music shifted to something softer, she
Sherrill smiled, sliding open the balcony door. A warm breeze curled into the living room, rustling the monstera leaves. She’d planned this. No alarms. No emails. Just 48 hours of her time.