Page 99 of Cava with My Colleague

Until Carlos moves his hand to stroke my hair and I nearly get poked in the eye by the corner of the Polaroid.

“Ow!”

“Mierda! Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I rub the delicate skin. “How’d it turn out?”

Carlos looks at the picture, smiles, and then shows it to me. I’m caught mid-laugh, my ponytail swinging as I walk toward him.

I look so happy.

“When did you get this?” I ask, gesturing to his camera. He gives it to me and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“A few weeks ago. I brought these to show you.”

The envelope contains a collection of Polaroids. They each are new, unlike my mish-mash variety, and they all have tiny holes in them from the pins that held them up.

There’s Carlos’s family—Fernando, Diana, Carmen, and Izan. Izan lying in grass and sunshine, Carlos and Carmen in his kitchen, Fernando with a party hat and a cake.

But there’s also a smattering of photos of Carlos by himself—in front of the Louvre in Paris, a bronze statue of an equestrian that I think is in Luxembourg, and one in front of the hotel we stayed at in Seville.

“Who took these?” I ask.

Carlos shifts to stand at my side and look down at the photos. “This one,” he points at the Seville photo, “was taken by the valet. He was about eighteen and I had to show him how to use the camera.” He shakes his head, smiling ruefully, before pointing to the Louvre shot. “This one was taken by a woman in a hijab who was visiting with her family from Indonesia. They taught me a few words in Bahasa. And this one in Luxembourg was a French couple. The woman told me I reminded her of her dad.”

His ears have turned pink, and I’m amazed that he’s been doing this for weeks.

“Wow.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m speechless.

Carlos gently takes the pictures from my hand—including the new one of me—puts them in the envelope, and tucks it back into his inside jacket pocket. He pats the outside, right above his heart. “I’m keeping them. I’m keeping you with me.”

I laugh, and if it sounds a little wet, who can blame me?

“Jade, you changed my life. I’ve been living half a life for so long. I told myself I was happy. That I had everything I needed—my work, my family, my settled routines. And it was . . . safe. Comfortable.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But it wasn’t full. It wasn’t alive. My purpose in life was to be dependable, to be a family man, to put my own needs aside.”

I can’t breathe.

“And then you walked into my office a year ago, and I spent months telling myself you were unprofessional, that you were inappropriate, that you were everything I didn’t want.” A small, self-deprecating smile. “I was lying to myself. You terrified me because I knew—I think I knew from the beginning—that you were going to upend everything.”

“Carlos—”

“Wait.” His voice is gentle. “The past two months, working with you, traveling with you, watching you become this incredible presenter who connects with people—it reminded me what it felt like to actually live. To be challenged. To grow. To want something more than just safety.”

He takes another step closer, close enough now that I can feel his warmth.

“I went home yesterday,” he continues, “and Fernando and Diana told me something I needed to hear. They said I’m not happy—I’m just safe. And they’re right. I’ve been choosing safety over happiness for eleven years because I was too scared to risk my heart.”

My throat is tight.

“But then I thought about you leaving,” Carlos says, his voice rough now. “About you going back to Austin, about never waking up with you again, never watching you light up when a patient tells you that you gave them hope.” He pauses. “And I realized that letting you go without fighting for us—that’s not safe. That’s just cowardice.”

“You’re not a coward,” I whisper.

“I need you to know something before you make any decisions about your future. I’m in love with you, Jade. Not interested, not attracted—in love with you. And I know it’s only been a few days since we’ve been together. I know it’s fast. But I’m fifty-six years old and I know what I feel.”

Tears are streaming down my face now. I don’t even try to stop them.

His hands find my waist, pulling me close enough so that our bodies are flush. “I want to be with you. I want to build a life together that works for both of us.”