Page 86 of Cava with My Colleague

The way he frowns slightly when he’s concentrating. The silver at his temples catching the light. The elegant way his fingers move across the screen.

I reach into my bag. The Polaroid camera has been there all morning, loaded with fresh film. I’ve been waiting for a moment worth keeping.

This is it.

I raise the camera. He’s still looking at his tablet, unaware. Silver temples, slight frown, the Spanish countryside blurred gold behind him.

Click.

He looks up, sees the camera, and smiles at me.

I lower the camera. “This is our last one.”

His expression softens. “I know.”

“We’ve gotten good at this. The presentations, I mean.”

“We have.” He reaches across the table, takes my hand. “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“We both have.”

The train conductor passes through and Carlos releases my hand, but the warmth lingers.

In Seville, the venue is smaller than some of the others—maybe two hundred seats in a historic building with soaring ceilings and beautiful tile work. The late afternoon sun streams through tall windows, painting everything gold.

We set up in comfortable silence. I connect my laptop while Carlos arranges the brochures. When I need the clicker, he hands it to me before I ask. When he needs the backup slide deck, I’ve already pulled it up.

We’ve done this so many times now. We know each other’s rhythms.

People start filtering in—pharmaceutical reps, medical professionals, patients, and families.

“Nervous?” Carlos asks, appearing at my elbow.

“No,” I say, and realize I mean it. “Excited.”

“Good.” He adjusts his tie, a small tell that he’s feeling something too. “This is the one to go out on.”

“No pressure.”

He smiles. “None at all.”

At exactly four o’clock, we take the stage together.

The hotel is nice—nicer than some of the others. Our rooms are on the same floor, side by side. We part ways at the elevator with an awkward “see you at dinner?” that feels wrong after last night.

In my room, I shower off the day and change into a sundress. It’s warm in Seville, even in the early evening. I’m debating whether to text Carlos when there’s a knock at my door.

I open it to find him standing there, still in his presentation clothes—dark slacks, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.” He looks uncertain. “I know we said dinner, but I thought—can I come in?”

I step aside and he enters, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, we just look at each other. The air feels charged, heavy with everything we’re not saying.

“Jade,” he starts. “Today was⁠—”