Page 52 of Cava with My Colleague

Not like the past few weeks, really, when we’ve been . . . different. Easier with each other.

Not like yesterday, when he tugged my hair and kissed me in the hotel hallway.

I kept waiting for him to say something—good morning, how did you sleep, should we talk about what happened—but he just stood on the opposite side of the stage, reviewing his notes like I wasn’t even there.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked over.

“Carlos,” I said.

He looked up, and for just a second, our eyes met. But then he looked away, like the sight of me made him uncomfortable.

“The presentation,” he said, his voice stiff and formal. “It will go well.”

That was it. No smile. No warmth. Just those careful, professional words that sounded like we were back in week one of this tour when he could barely stand to be in the same room as me.

“Okay,” I said slowly, confused. “Thanks?”

He nodded once and turned away.

And now, standing in front of four hundred people giving my presentation, I keep trying to catch his eye. To see if there’s any sign of the Carlos who kissed me, who ran his fingers through my hair and looked at me like I was something precious.

But he won’t look at me.

He translates perfectly, professionally, like always. But he might as well be a stranger.

Did I do something wrong?

Was the kiss . . . bad? Did I misread everything?

Maybe now that he’s had time to think about it, he’s realized—what? That I’m leaving? I’m his colleague? That this doesn’t make sense? That it was just a kiss and nothing more?

All the reasons he wasn’t interested before.

Maybe I’ve been building this up in my head. Making it bigger than it was.

Maybe I’m the only one who felt something shift.

The presentation ends. I descend the stage steps and turn the switch—the one that goes from terrified to present, from hurt to here. I’ve been doing it my whole life and it still works, which is either impressive or concerning depending on how you look at it.

I field the usual questions, talk to the usual pharmaceutical reps. The whole time, I’m hyperaware of where Carlos is—across the room, packing up equipment, checking his watch.

Someone asks me a question and my attention gets pulled back to the mother I’m talking to. Her daughter is going through chemo, and too sick to attend tonight. I mentally slap myself and focus back in on the conversation, giving my full attention to this woman who deserves it.

When the crowd starts to dwindle, I catch sight of Carlos again. He’s standing by the elevator, at ease and way more relaxed than I’ve seen all day.

And then I see her.

The woman is beautiful—high cheekbones, generous curves, fashionable. She’s wearing bright earrings that draw the eye and probably make men want to lean over and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

Like Carlos is doing right now.

Of course.

Of course he’s with someone.

This explains everything—the distance today, the way he won’t look at me, the stiff formality. He regrets the kiss. He went back to his real life, his real girlfriend or wife or whoever this is, and I was just . . . what? A moment of weakness? A colleague he got carried away with?

I watch him touch her lower back, lean in close to say something. She laughs, bright and easy, like they do this all the time.