Orange Hour at the Azure

The corporate retreat had been Sarah's idea—team building, they called it. Now she stood by the infinity pool, nursing a drink she'd barely touched, watching the sun dip below the palm trees that fringed the resort's perimeter.

"You're going to burn through that umbrella if you keep gripping it like that."

She turned to find David behind her, holding two fresh drinks. His Panama hat was slightly askew, giving him a boyish quality that belied the ruthlessness everyone at the firm knew him for. The same ruthlessness that had cost her the partnership six months ago.

"Lightning doesn't strike twice, David," she said, accepting the drink. "That's what they say."

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "And yet here we both are. At the same company. Same retreat."

"Different circumstances."

"Always." He gestured toward the pool where their colleagues laughed, splashed, pretended this was anything but what it was—a distraction from the layoffs coming next week. "Remember that night in Chicago? The orange sky before the storm?"

Sarah's palm tightened around her glass. She did remember. The bar near their hotel, the way they'd talked about everything except what they needed to talk about. His marriage. Her promotion. The thing that almost happened between them.

"You told me you'd never wear a hat," she said, deflecting. "Called them pretentious."

"People change."

"Do they?" She met his eyes. "Really?"

David's expression shifted, the practiced charm slipping. "Sarah, I'm getting divorced."

The silence between them stretched, heavy with five years of unsaid things. Beyond the pool's edge, lightning flickered across the darkening sky, illuminating everything and nothing at all.

"I know," she said softly. "I've known for weeks."

He stared at her. "How?"

"I'm still on the partnership track, David. I still see everything."

She set her drink on the nearby table, removed her own hat—she'd started wearing them after him, after everything—and let the evening breeze catch her hair.

"Some things," she said, "are worth waiting out."

And for the first time in six months, David didn't look like the man who'd won. He looked like someone who'd finally realized what he'd actually lost.