Long weekends, loud opinions

From the very beginning, Darren had an issue with me taking long weekends. Every Monday when I walked in, his eyes narrowed like he was already counting the minutes until I had to sit down in my office. The company policy was clear: as long as my work was done before I left, I could take weekends as long as I wanted. Not a favor. Not a loophole. Just policy. But Darren acted like I was trying to game the system.

The first time he gave me grief was right after a weekend in Jakarta. I had every report submitted early, everything tied up, but when I walked into the office Monday morning, Darren didn’t even wait for me to say hello.

“You’re pushing it, you know,” he said, voice low but sharp. “You can’t keep disappearing like this.”

I stopped in my tracks, set down my bag, and looked him in the eye. “Company policy says I’m allowed. I get my work done before I leave. What exactly is the problem?”

He scowled, like I’d kicked over his carefully built sandcastle. “It’s about commitment. Appearance.”

I didn’t back down. “I’m more committed to do my job than the rest of the staff; I beat the expectations of the clients, and they love my work. You know that I bring more high paying clients than anyone else here – including you. If that’s not good enough, maybe you need to adjust your expectations. As for appearances, it bothers you that I am dating your best friend from college.”

He huffed and walked away, but that wasn’t the last time.

That night, I vented to Vince at my place, frustration thick in my voice. “He’s treating me like I’m some slacker trying to get away with murder.”

Vince was quiet for a beat, then firm. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

The next morning, Vince marched into Darren’s office like a man on a mission. I wasn’t there that early in the morning, but by the time I arrived twenty minutes later, the whole office was buzzing. Vince was already gone when I got there.

When I saw Vince after work, I asked, “What did you say?”

He smirked, like he’d just won a battle. “I told him you’re following the damn policy, that you’re one of the best employees he has, and that he needs to keep his mouth shut. Told him he’s the only one making a problem out of nothing.”

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in days. “Good. Because I’m not going to stop.”

He squeezed my hand. “And I’m not going to let him treat you like that.”

Every weekend since, wheels up by midnight on Wednesdays, sometimes Thursdays at 5 am.

Lisbon was the first. The city was just waking up as we landed in the cool early morning. The narrow cobblestone streets were empty, except for the scent of fresh coffee and roasting chestnuts in the air. Vince and I wandered hand in hand, admiring the faded blue azulejo tiles on old buildings.

“Imagine the stories these walls could tell,” Vince whispered.

I smiled, squeezing his fingers. “Let’s write our own story.”

Lunch was fresh bacalhau — salted cod, expertly grilled with garlic and olive oil — eaten at a small family-run tasca where locals sipped vinho verde and chatted. For dessert, we shared pastéis de nata, warm and dusted with cinnamon.

That night, in the tiny apartment we rented, Vince caught me unpacking in the kitchen. “Forget that,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “Come here.”

Our kiss was slow and deep, the kind that melts everything else away. His hands slid under my shirt, warm and sure, tracing the curve of my waist. I pressed into him, heart racing, exhaustion forgotten.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against my skin.

I laughed breathlessly. “Flatterer.”

“No, seriously.” He kissed a path down my neck. “I want you.”

We made love on that creaky mattress, the city lights spilling through the window like stars just for us. His touch was reverent, like he was learning every secret of my body, and I gave myself freely. Later, tangled in each other’s arms, I whispered, “I never want this to end.”

Vince smiled, fingers threading through my hair. “Neither do I.”

Budapest was a world away — cold air, steaming thermal baths, the Danube shimmering under a pale sun. We dared each other to jump into icy pools, laughing like kids, breath catching from cold and excitement. Wrapped in thick towels later, Vince pressed close.

“You’re crazy,” I teased.

“Only for you,” he said, eyes shining.

That night, back in the hotel room, the heat between us flared again. Vince’s hands were everywhere — firm, gentle, demanding — and every time I thought I might catch my breath, he kissed me deeper. We didn’t stop until exhaustion pulled us under, limbs intertwined and hearts racing.

We feasted on hearty goulash and lángos — deep-fried dough topped with sour cream and cheese — washed down with spicy palinka. The flavors were bold and comforting, just like the city itself.

Vienna’s palaces and gilded halls were breathtaking, but it was the quiet moments that stayed with me — coffee in a rainy café, Vince’s hand warm around mine, whispered promises over shared slices of Sachertorte.

“How do you do it?” he asked, voice low. “Work hard, travel all the time, and still make time for us?”

I shrugged, cheeks flushed. “Because it’s us. Nothing else matters.”

He leaned close, lips brushing my ear. “Promise me we never stop.”

Later, the room was thick with rain against the windows and thicker still with the heat of our bodies. Vince kissed every inch of me like it was sacred, worshiping me in the dim light. The world outside ceased to exist.

Kraków was full of contrasts — the Main Square bustled with color and noise, but the silence at Auschwitz was something else entirely. It reminded us how precious every moment was.

That night, in a small room lit by candlelight, Vince held me close.

“We make our own history,” he said. “Every touch, every moment. It’s ours.”

I kissed him fiercely, hungry to remember this love in a world that tried to drown it out.

We ate pierogi filled with mushrooms and cabbage, and hearty żurek soup in a little place where the owner smiled at us like family.

Every Monday, Darren watched me walk back into the office like I’d just stepped off a runway, his face a storm of disapproval. But I was ready. I met his eyes one day and said flatly, “It’s policy, not a favor. I’m not the problem here.”

He said nothing, just blinked and looked away.

Vince was my rock through it all — quiet but unyielding. When Darren tried to push, Vince pushed back harder. I didn’t need a knight in shining armor, but damn if it wasn’t nice to have one.

Every weekend, wheels up. Every trip, a new city, a new story, a new memory carved into the mosaic of us.

And every Monday, I was ready to do it all again.