Storm Weather

The corporate retreat was exactly as Maya had dreaded: forced mingling at a resort poolside bar, her colleagues getting progressively louder as the open wine flowed. She'd retreated to the edge of the infinity pool, her feet in the water, nursing the same gin and tonic for forty minutes. Her wet hair was plastered to her neck—she'd ducked underwater for a moment of silence, pretending she'd been swimming laps when really she'd just needed to disappear.

'You going under again, or can I join you?'

Maya surfaced to find Julian standing there, his linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, holding his hat—a ridiculous straw thing he'd bought at some tourist trap—against the gathering wind. Julian from legal. Julian who'd caught her crying in the supply closet three months ago after her divorce papers arrived and hadn't said a word to anyone about it.

'The storm's coming in faster than they predicted,' she said, gesturing toward the horizon where purple-black clouds were swallowing the sky.

'That's not all that's coming in faster than predicted.' He sat beside her, removing his shoes. 'I heard about the partnership offer.' He turned to her, something unreadable in his expression. 'You're not going to take it.'

Maya's stomach tightened. 'I haven't decided.'

'You have. You're just not ready to admit it yet.' He splashed water with his feet. 'You're going to walk away from fourteen years of climbing the ladder because you finally realized the view from the top is just more of the same gray carpet.' He paused. 'Am I wrong?'

She stared at him. 'I should have known you'd see it.'

'I see a lot of things.' His voice dropped. 'I see you every day. I see the way you light up when you talk about that flower shop you wanted to open. I see the way you look at me when you think I won't notice.' He set his hat on the deck between them. 'I'm thirty-eight, Maya. I'm done pretending I don't know exactly what I want.'

Lightning fractured the sky—a spiderweb of white fire that illuminated everything, the pool, the palm trees, Julian's face, his eyes locked on hers. The storm broke.

They were already running through the downpour toward the main building when he grabbed her hand, pulling her into the cover of a cabana. Her wet hair streamed water down her face. His shirt was plastered to his chest. Neither of them moved away.

'May I?' His voice was barely audible over the thunder.

She nodded once.

His kiss tasted like rain and hesitation and something finally, finally being named. Her hands found their way to his wet shirt, pulling him closer. Somewhere behind them, her colleagues were scattering for cover, shouting about the storm. Here in the cabana, everything was suddenly quiet. Hat on the ground. Hair streaming water. Lightning forking above a beginning.