Page 66 of Cava with My Colleague

“Right,” she says finally. “Of course you are.”

The silence that follows is different than before. Heavier.

“You’re leaving in a month,” I say, and I don’t know why I’m pushing this. Driving the point home.

Her head snaps up. “I know when I’m leaving, Carlos.”

“I just meant⁠—”

“What? That even if you wanted this—which you clearly don’t—it wouldn’t matter because I’m temporary?”

“That’s not⁠—”

“It is, though.” She’s looking at me now, eyes bright. “You’re right. You have your settled life. Your family. Your routine. And I’m the colleague passing through who made things complicated for a minute.”

I feel the distance yawning between us even though we’re still only four feet apart. I want to say: It’s more than a minute. It’s been more than that for weeks. I want to say: I can’t stop thinking about you.

Instead: “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice is flat. “You were honest. That’s . . . that’s good.”

There’s a scraping noise, a knock, and then the elevator doors open a few inches. We scramble to our feet, Jade grabbing her laptop bag, me shoving my phone in my pocket. Both of us are desperate to get out.

When they finally get the doors open enough for us to climb out, we realize we’re between floors. The maintenance man is kneeling on the floor above us—the fourth floor, it turns out, but it’s easier for us to get out onto the third.

I go first, sitting on the edge and jumping off, one of the hotel staff standing by to help me. I brush off their concern and turn back to Jade.

She’s crouched down, eyes wide, looking at the distance to the floor.

I reach out to her and gesture toward myself. “I’ll catch you.”

She reaches a hand out and I step forward, my hands circling her waist under her blazer and her palm hitting my shoulder. She scoots, and I catch her as she hops off the edge. Her momentum brings her body almost flush with mine, and I try to ignore the slide against me as I set her down gently on her feet.

Our eyes connect, and I wait, holding her steady until she looks away.

I take a step back and dust my hands off.

We have to assure the staff that we’re fine, then they have to assure us that the other elevator is working perfectly well. We get in it, but this time with the hotel manager escorting us to our rooms.

Jade smiles at him, making small talk. I think about the feel of her in my hands. It’s hard not to think about the other times my hands were on her body.

The elevator dings at our floor.

The doors slide open and Jade exits quickly.

The manager moves to follow her, but I stop him. “We’re fine,” I assure him, a palm up as I step out of the elevator. Thankfully he takes the hint and retreats back, pressing a button on the wall. The doors close. I lengthen my strides to catch up with Jade.

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

I catch up, just two steps behind. “Jade, wait⁠—”

She turns, and I see it in her face: walls fully up, locked tight.

“We agreed,” she says quietly. “Professional only. That’s what this is.”

I nod, because what else can I do? What else can I say that won’t make this worse?

She walks toward her room—1216, three doors down from mine. I watch her go. She doesn’t look back.