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But I hope you will see me. At least once more.
Yours,
Miguel
P.S. I almost forgot. I know you fly out this afternoon, so I arranged for Sunday brunch on the terrace. And a fire and drum show, just for you. Nothing sexy. I’d imagined I’d have tired of you by then and planned for a safe, non-emotional send-off. How very mistaken I was.
Sunday passed in a whirl, which was good. It gave her little time to contemplate Miguel’s offer. On the one hand, she longed to see him. She practically had physical withdrawal symptoms, her body savagely craving the intense erotic interactions with him. On the other, they really barely knew each other as people. Especially working people in the real world.
Would they date? Would it still be just about the sex? Would they have a relationship—rent videos and snuggle on the couch in their silly pajamas?
She couldn’t quite fit her mind around it.
So, because she had time and he’d given her the out—so out of character for him—she decided not to decide. She’d wait until she was back in her power suit and behind her big desk, back in her real-world skin. Then she’d know better if this was vacation brain that urged her to say yes or...something more.
People don’t fundamentally change.
She enjoyed brunch and the fire and drum show was truly spectacular. But she rushed the performers along in the end. She had her piercing appointment and already her brain was turning to Monday morning. It didn’t surprise her that her schedule was packed, but usually Julie tried to keep her first day back fairly clear, so she could deal with email and voice messages.
But then, she’d never taken a vacation this long, either, and she worried about what might have gone to hell in her absence.
She said her reluctant goodbyes to the penthouse and the lovely Oro resort. It was easier, in many ways, that she hadn’t had to say farewell to Miguel also. He hadn’t paid her hotel bill, after all, which showed great wisdom on his part. Though it was much smaller than she’d planned on, he’d treated her to so much.
As a parting gift, he’d arranged for his driver to take her to the airport. Splurging, she spent some of her leftover budget on a very pricey, last-minute upgrade to first class.
Then she boarded the plane, ordered one last margarita, and returned to frozen Philadelphia.
January 6
Epiphany
The first day back in the real world was always an adjustment.
Not only were the landscape, people and climate completely different from lazy, golden Cozumel, but even Philadelphia wasn’t as she’d left it. The city had been denuded of the holiday decorations that had made it so festive and everyone had settled into getting through the dark, cold days of January.
She didn’t settle back into her old skin as easily as she’d thought. She’d worn her favorite power suit—not to impress Miguel, if she decided to see him—but to rev her up for what turned out to be a seriously packed schedule, indeed. It would be a crazy day. Still, she found herself sitting with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, staring out at the grey snowfall turning the skyline and river into insubstantial clouds.
With a sigh of impatience for her mooning, she made herself open her email. When she stumbled over the password, she gave herself a mental shake. Sharpen up, Tilda.
She got it on the second try and began sorting through the high-priority folder. Bless Julie for organizing the daunting number of messages. It would have been lowering to ask Julie for her own damn password.
Speak of the devil, Julie popped her head in just then. “Remember you have the Pfizer meeting at nine. I tried to talk them out of that one, but with the product meltdown over New Year’s...”
“No, that’s all right. I’m happy that’s the only major crisis.”
“And 2,003 minor ones.” Julie rubbed her temple. “I don’t know how you do it, really.”
“Practice.”
“Yeah, well, I’m done practicing for a while. I’m just relieved you’re back.”
Tilda slid her reading glasses down her nose and considered her usually perky assistant. “Did you take any time off at all?”
“Some.” Julie shrugged it off and set a folder on Tilda’s desk. “You’ll note that I do not have a Caribbean tan.”
Remembering some of the ways she’d earned that tan, she heated, then quickly cut off that train of thought.
“You should go. Maybe in spring.”
