Safe conversation two professionals might have on a long flight.
Nothing more.
Instead, I find myself discussing things I’ve never talked about with anyone. Not even my own family.
“When I left New York after my divorce, I needed a drastic change,” I admit. “Seattle is close enough to Europe, far enough from the noise. And the rain… I actually love. It slows you down whether you want it to or not.”
The words are strange on my tongue. Soft, unguarded. The thing is, it wasn’t a marriage ending. It was war. Lawyers. Settlements. Years of building a business from nothing, only to watch half of it torn away. My name scraped off the door, clients siphoned, reputation bruised.
Starting over nearly broke me.
But here, beside Rosa, the ache turns quiet. Old resentments and fear recede, leaving a sense of peace I can’t explain. Like, maybe it all led me here. To this moment.
She doesn’t press. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes hold the same exhaustion I’ve carried for years. The kind ambition hides until it burns through every ounce of calm you have left.
For the first time in years, my heart is light.
I can’t name what this is. Connection? Recognition? Fate? All I know is it moves through me, steady as the engines beneath our feet.
Damn it, I don’t want this night to end.
She tips her head, eyes fixed on mine. “Tell me how…”
So I do. Slowly at first, then all at once. I tell her how Viñedo rose from the ashes of what I lost. How I rebuilt everything with steadier hands, fewer illusions, more scars. She listens without interrupting, tracing the rim of her glass as if it keeps her tethered to my voice.
I speak about my brother in Barcelona, though not specifically about the deal waiting there. I’m too superstitious.
For the first time, however, I admit aloud how tired I am of chasing success. How focusing only on business leaves me lonely.
Her gaze never drifts. She listens like no one ever has. Like every word matters.
Somewhere mid-story, her eyes grow heavy, blinking slower with each breath. She fights it by asking questions. Small, probing, thoughtful things. But, her voice fades softer each time.
When her lashes lower for the third time, I know the battle’s lost.
Her eyes flutter closed midsentence, then snap open again.
I can’t ignore the fatigue dragging her down. It lives in her posture, even when she’s lying down. Her voice is hoarse. Gravelly.
She’s fought exhaustion throughout our delightful conversation because she’s built for endurance.
As disappointed as I am, even steel bends.
“You should rest.” I reach over and tuck her hair behind her ear.
She shakes her head, stubborn, though the corners of her mouth betray her with a tired slant. “I’m fine.”
“Rosa,” I soothe. “Sleep. There’s always tomorrow.”
She exhales, long and low, and lets the fight slip from her body.
I lean in and press my lips to her forehead.
Her lashes flutter once. Then she sinks, steady breathing pulling her under.
A quiet protectiveness threads through me.
Her body softens into the seat, tension unwinding at last. The strand of dark hair slips free again, catching the light from the aisle. Her lips part with each breath. A faint sound escapes, something between a sigh and surrender. The pulse at her throat beats slow, steady, alive.
