Page 15 of Doctor Neighbor

I don't move. I don't think. I just... exist. In this moment, there's no café to worry about, no health inspectors, no ex-lovers popping up out of nowhere. It's just me and the silence, suspended in time.

2:49 pm

I pull myself off the sofa, the quiet moment slipping away as I stretch my arms above my head. My muscles protest, reminding me that it's been too long since I've done anything active. A barre class is precisely what I need to shake off this funk.

I pad into my bedroom, rifling through my drawer for my favorite workout clothes. The soft, stretchy fabric of my leggings and tank top feels good against my skin. I slip on my sneakers, double-knotting the laces, and make sure I have some sticky socks to put on when I get there.

Glancing at my watch, I see it’s just after three. Perfect. If I hustle, I’ll have just enough time to make the 3:30 class.

I grab my Lululemon fanny pack from the hook by the door, checking its contents. The key, license, credit card, and phone are all accounted for. I snap the pack around my waist, adjusting it to sit comfortably across my body.

As I step outside, the afternoon sun hits my face, a warm breeze ruffling my hair. I set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, my sneakers slapping against the pavement as I take long strides.

The walk to the studio is familiar, my body moving on autopilot. I pass by the local coffee shop, resisting the urge to pop in for a quick iced latte and a bit of corporate espionage. There is nothing wrong with checking out the competition to get ideas to incorporate into my shop, right? Sigh. No time for that now.

As I walk, I feel the tension in my body falling off behind me with each step. The rhythmic movement of my legs, the steady in and out of my breath—it's already working its magic. By the time I reach the studio, I feel more centered and like myself.

When I push open the glass door, the familiar smell of eucalyptus and lavender in the studio hugs me immediately. The receptionist greets me with a smile as I check in for class. Somehow, I’ve made it here with a few minutes to spare.

Elixir Proper

4:41 pm

On my walk home, I pop in for a drink at the trendy cocktail bar I’ve been craving since halfway through my barre class. It is a slight detour but in my general direction.

The cool air inside is a welcome relief after my workout and walking in the August heat. My muscles ache pleasantly, reminding me of the intense workout I just powered through. My inner thighs are still shanking from the tiny but powerful pliés.

The bar is still quiet, with only a handful of patrons scattered at tables. It won’t stay this way for long, especially on a weekend. I make my way to the sleek marble bar, sliding onto a plush leather stool. The bartender, a guy with an impressive beard and a perfectly curated tattoo sleeve sneaking out from his rolled-up sleeves, nods in my direction.

"What can I get you?"

"Vodka gimlet, please," I say, my mouth already watering at the thought. Elixir's bespoke version of this classic is something I frequently dream about.

He gets to work, his movements precise and practiced. I watch as he measures out the house-infused vodka, fresh lime juice, and a touch of their secret simple syrup. The shaker moves in a mesmerizing blur, and soon, he's pouring the pale green liquid into a chilled coupe glass.

The first sip is heaven—tart, slightly sweet, with a complexity that dances on my tongue. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring it. I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar when I open them. My cheeks are still flushed from the workout, and my hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. I feel like I look... alive. Energized.

It’s a nice change. This was just what the doctor ordered.

I take another sip, feeling the tension of the past week start to melt away. The vodka gimlet works its magic, and for the first time in days, I'm not thinking about all of the pressures and stressors in my life right now. It's just me, this perfect drink, and the quiet hum of the bar around me.

FIVE

Buster

4:50 pm

I step out of my new condo, locking the door behind me. The hallway still smells of fresh paint and carpet cleaner. It's a stark contrast to the musty basement I've been calling home for the past few months.

The late afternoon sun hits my face as I exit the building. I breathe in deeply, savoring the feeling of freedom. No more tiptoeing around my own house, avoiding Lara's icy glares and passive-aggressive comments.

I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Shep:

Hey man, wanna grab a beer? The new place is all set up.

I wait a minute, but no response. Typical Shep, probably elbow-deep in someone's brain right now. He also has a lot on his plate with his own life, so I won’t give him too much hell.

Screw it, I'm going anyway. I need a drink after all that unpacking, and my kitchen is still an empty wasteland. My dishes, pots, pans, and cutlery won’t arrive until Monday. Williams Sonoma had a good day when I placed my order.

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