Page 75 of Cava with My Colleague

“He is.” I pause. “Thank you. For calling him. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were sick and alone. Of course I called your emergency contact.”

Always so practical. So professional.

But her eyes keep drifting back to me, checking, assessing. Making sure I’m okay.

I tell myself this is what colleagues do. What decent people do. She is practical and conscientious and this means nothing beyond that. I am very good at telling myself things like this. I’ve had eleven years of practice, and before that, an entire marriage in which I learned to receive love in its offered shape and not ask for more.

Fernando returns with a mug and a bowl, handing the coffee to Jade before giving me the rice and then sitting on the other end of the couch from me.

“So how long have you two been working together?” he asks, and I recognize that tone. It’s his “gathering information” voice.

“Since September,” Jade says. “Though the tour only started in May.”

“And how much longer?”

“Marseille tomorrow, then Seville. Then we’re done.” She says it neutrally, but something flickers across her face. “I fly back to Austin at the end of the month.” She smiles. “The American staff have to work through your August break.”

“Austin,” Fernando repeats, glancing at me. “That’s far.”

“It’s where I live,” Jade says simply. She sips her coffee and then eyes the bowl I’m carefully eating from. “Rice? Not soup?”

“No, just plain rice. Easy on the stomach,” Fernando says with a grin. “I’ve watched enough TV shows to know Americans believe in the curative properties of . . . what? Chicken noodle soup? Spaniards are more simple. I have many memories of Dad bringing me bowls of rice.”

Jade smiles into her mug, and I wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s thinking of me as a father, as someone who takes care of his son when he’s sick.

“I hate to miss a presentation.” I shake my head. “We only have one left now. I’ll be fine for the final one.”

“You’re not going to the final one,” Fernando cuts in.

“I’ll be better by then⁠—”

“Dad.” Fernando’s voice is firm. “You’re staying home. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’ll call Diana,” he threatens.

Jade holds up a hand, placating. “Let’s see how he feels in a few days.” Then she tips her head back and swallows the last of her coffee. She checks her watch again. “I should go.”

“Of course,” Fernando says, standing. “Thank you again for taking care of him.”

Jade stands too, smoothing her skirt. She looks at me one more time. “Feel better, Carlos. And actually rest. No working from home.”

“Yes, Dr. Jade.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up, just slightly. Then she’s heading for the door, Fernando following to see her out.

I hear their voices in the hallway—Fernando thanking her again, Jade saying something about calling if I get worse. Then the door closes.

Fernando comes back into the living room, a knowing look on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He sits back down on the couch, that grin still playing at his lips. “Just . . . interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”