Chapter 32
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.
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.”
“How?” My voice breaks.
One hand comes up, stroking my cheek. “I’m not asking you to give up Austin. I’m not asking you to sacrifice your career or your life. I’m asking if you’ll let me be part of it. If you’ll give us a real chance instead of just assuming it’s impossible.”
I’m crying so hard I can barely see him.
“Carlos,” I manage. “I was going to tell you—when I got back—I was going to ask Rebecca for a permanent position in Madrid.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“I don’t want to go back to Austin. Or—I mean, I do, but not to stay.
” The words are tumbling out now. “I want to stay in Madrid. I want to try this. I’ve been keeping everything temporary my whole life because I was scared of losing things.
But you—” I squeeze his hands. “You made me want to stay.”
Carlos sighs, this big exhale of relief, dropping his head.
“I was going to try,” I add. “I didn’t know if you wanted—I thought maybe Thursday was just—”
“Jade.” He cups my face in his hands. “I want everything. I want mornings together and arguments about nothing and Saturday dinners with my family and meeting your friends and figuring out how to make this work even though it’s complicated and messy and—”
I kiss him.
And it’s an airport. No one cares. We’re just another couple, reunited; no pomp, no fluff. Just a man that says he wants to keep me forever.
We get on the Metro headed back to my place so I can unpack, and the commute gives us more time to hash things out.
“So,” I say. “Even if there is a job for me here, I’ll have to spend some time in Austin. Will you come with me when I fly back? Or do you want to spend the summer break here?” The romantic in me already protests at not seeing him for a few weeks.
“I’ll take as much time off as I can. And work remotely for a bit.”
I fiddle with the handle of my bag. “I’m not even sure Rebecca will want me here. I haven’t exactly been the best employee lately.”
He pulls me closer and I let go of the pole to hold on to him instead. “Jade, you had a hard time with the presentations, but you turned it around. And before that Rebecca suggested you for the presentation. She’ll want you here.”
I sigh, my chest pressing against Carlos’s.
He ducks down to look at me better, a half-smile tugging at his face, which softens as he looks at me. “You’re always so confident,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice. I don’t feel confident right now, and I know that’s a lie anyways. He’s seen me at my worst.
He touches my cheek. “I love that part of you. But I love this part too.”
I kiss him again. Softer this time, sweeter. The kind of kiss that feels like a promise.
As we switch trains, ride the 8, and then walk to my apartment, his hand warm in mine, I’m already thinking about tomorrow. About calling Rebecca and asking about that permanent position. About Sunday lunches with Fernando and Diana. About figuring out where I’m going to set down roots.
About building a life that’s complicated and messy and absolutely perfect because it’s ours.
“Jade?” Carlos says as we reach the building.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
It’s the first time he’s said it directly, not as part of a grand declaration. Just simple and true.
“I love you too,” I say.
And I mean it.