Page 98 of Cava with My Colleague

Jade

Sunday morning in Monaco is perfect. The kind of perfect that feels almost staged—blue sky, gentle breeze off the Mediterranean, the four of us having coffee and pastries on the hotel terrace like we’re in a movie about friendship and European adventures.

“I can’t believe this is our last morning together,” Emma says, breaking off a piece of croissant. “Before we all scatter back to our real lives.”

“This felt like real life,” Tessa says softly. “More real than anything before it.”

I look at Tessa when she says this. I know what she means—she came here alone, nervous, and found Luc, and found a version of herself she didn’t know she was missing. She moved to a new city and built something real.

“It was,” I say. “It really was.” I reach across and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, an old habit from years of fixing each other’s updos before nights out. She catches my hand and holds it for a second.

“Whatever happens,” Tessa says, “we did something good this year.”

“We did,” I agree.

Sara reaches across the table and squeezes both our hands. “We’re not losing each other. We’re just . . . expanding. We’ll find each other. We’ll make it work. Maybe not once a month, like we managed for this year, but as best as we can.”

“You know I’ll be coming to Austin sometimes to see the kids,” Emma adds. “We’ll make a point to get together for some wine and yoga, even if it’s just two or three of us.”

My eyes drop to my lap, and I fist the napkin in my lap. “I still have to figure out something. To think about what I’m going to do.”

“About Carlos,” Emma says. It’s not a question.

“About everything.”

My phone buzzes on the table. I glance at it expecting another text from him, but it’s just a notification about my flight tonight. Back to Madrid for my last two weeks.

And then Austin. Maybe.

I still haven’t decided.

Our goodbyes are long and teary, at least for me. I don’t know when I’m going to see these women again. On one hand, they’re my best friends, and my heart aches thinking that they’ve got new lives that will go on without me.

On the other hand, my career waits for me.

I distract myself with podcasts on the flight back to Madrid and then roll my carry-on out of the terminal toward the exit and the Metro, a trip I’ve done so often I’m on autopilot.

Until I hear my name, called by a familiar voice.

I look to my right and there he is. Carlos.

He grins at me, and I can’t help but return his smile as my belly flutters.

He met me at the airport.

But then he raises his hands and I recognize a camera—a Polaroid, a different model from mine, but still familiar—and my smile turns into a burst of laughter.

As I approach he carefully takes the shot out of the camera. “What is this?” I ask in bewilderment when I’m close enough. Between the camera and the fresh print, Carlos doesn’t have a free hand but he carefully wraps his arm around me anyway. His forearm presses into my back, keeping me close, and his lips meet mine.

I don’t know who deepens it, but my back is arching and I’ve released my suitcase to let my hands furrow into Carlos’s hair.

It’s a deep kiss, it’s an I’ve-missed-you-kiss, it’s a you’re-home kiss.

It’s exactly the kind of kiss you’d expect in the arrivals terminal of an airport.

It just doesn’t feel like it’s ever one I’ve received.

Finally Carlos pulls back and looks at me. It’s full of such tenderness I feel like we’re just two people staring heart-eyes at each other while the world turns around us.