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There's something about being suspended 1,299 feet above Rio de Janeiro that makes you reconsider your life choices. For Mateo Rivera, the choice currently under review was agreeing to share a cable car with his insufferably cheerful colleague, Luca Santos.
"Isn't this amazing?" Luca pressed his face against the glass like an overexcited golden retriever, his messy blonde curls catching the late afternoon sun. "Look at Copacabana! And the Christ statue! Mateo, you have to see this, "
"I can see it perfectly fine from here," Mateo muttered, gripping the handrail with white knuckles. He'd dressed for a professional conference, not a tourist trap: crisp black button-down, tailored slacks, leather shoes that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Meanwhile, Luca wore a wrinkled linen shirt unbuttoned one button too many and shorts that should be illegal in a professional setting.
They were in Rio for a marketing summit, but Luca had insisted on "experiencing the city's soul" before their presentation tomorrow. Mateo had only agreed because their boss suggested team bonding. He was already regretting it.
"You know what your problem is?" Luca turned from the window, his dark eyes sparkling with that perpetual amusement that made Mateo want to simultaneously punch him and, well, he wasn't going to finish that thought.
"Enlighten me," Mateo deadpanned.
"You don't know how to let go." Luca stepped closer, and suddenly the cable car felt significantly smaller. "Everything's always so controlled with you. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect presentations. When's the last time you did something spontaneous?"
"Spontaneity is just poor planning with better PR."
Luca laughed, that full-body, genuine laugh that somehow made Mateo's chest tighten. "See? That's exactly what I mean. You're wound so tight, I'm surprised you don't snap."
The cable car swayed slightly in the wind, and Mateo's grip tightened. Luca noticed immediately.
"Hey." His voice softened, losing its teasing edge. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"You're not fine. You're terrified." Luca's hand covered Mateo's on the rail. His palm was warm, calloused in a way that suggested he actually did things with his hands besides type reports. "Why didn't you say you were afraid of heights?"
"I'm not afraid. I'm cautious. There's a difference."
"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." Luca's thumb traced small circles on Mateo's wrist, probably meant to be comforting. It was having entirely different effects. "Look at me. Not the view, just me."
Against his better judgment, Mateo did. Up close, Luca's face was unfairly attractive: sun-kissed skin, a smattering of freckles across his nose, lips curved in a gentle smile that was nothing like his usual shit-eating grin.
"There you go," Luca murmured. "Just breathe. We've got another five minutes, and then you can yell at me on solid ground."
"I don't yell."
"You do this thing where your jaw tightens and your left eyebrow does this micro-twitch. It's very intimidating. Also kind of hot, but that's beside the point."
Mateo's brain short-circuited. "What?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything." But Luca didn't move away. If anything, he stepped closer, close enough that Mateo could smell his cologne, something citrusy and light, completely at odds with Mateo's own dark, woody scent.
The cable car crested the mountain, and suddenly they were at the summit platform. Luca finally released Mateo's hand, leaving a cold spot where his warmth had been.
"Come on, grumpy. Let's see this view you've been actively avoiding."
The summit of Sugarloaf Mountain was everything Mateo had expected: crowded with tourists, overpriced vendors, the whole commercial package. But when Luca led him to a less crowded corner and the full panorama of Rio spread out before them, Guanabara Bay glittering like scattered diamonds, the city sprawling in organized chaos, the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon, even Mateo had to admit it was breathtaking.
"Okay," he conceded. "It's… acceptable."
"'Acceptable,' he says." Luca shook his head. "You're impossible."
"You knew that when you dragged me up here."
"True." Luca leaned against the railing, the wind catching his hair. The golden hour light painted him in warm amber tones, and Mateo had to actively remind himself that they were colleagues. Professional colleagues who had to work together after this trip.
"Can I ask you something?" Luca's voice had gone serious, which was rare enough to capture Mateo's full attention.
"You're going to anyway."
"Why do you push people away? And don't say you don't, because you absolutely do. You've been with the company for two years, and I don't think anyone really knows you."
Mateo's first instinct was to deflect with sarcasm, but something about the setting, suspended between sky and earth, far from their normal lives, made him answer honestly. "Because it's easier. If people don't get close, they can't disappoint you. Or leave."
"That's a lonely way to live."
"It's a safe way to live."
Luca turned to face him fully. "What if I told you I don't want safe?"
The air between them crackled with sudden tension. Mateo's heart rate kicked up in a way that had nothing to do with heights.
"Luca, "
"I've been trying to get your attention for six months, Mateo. Six months of terrible jokes and forcing you to coffee and volunteering for every project you're on. You're brilliant and sharp and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes, but you're wrapped in so many walls I'm not sure how to get through."
Mateo's carefully constructed defenses wavered. "We work together."
"We do."
"This is a terrible idea."
"Probably."
"Everyone will talk."
"Let them." Luca stepped closer, close enough that Mateo could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm asking for right now. For a chance. Unless you're going to stand here and tell me you feel nothing."
That was the problem. Mateo felt everything, had been feeling it for months, pushing it down, rationalizing it away. But here, 1,299 feet above the city with the sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, his control finally snapped.
He kissed Luca.
Or maybe Luca kissed him. In the end, it didn't matter who moved first. What mattered was the way Luca's hands came up to cup his face, gentle and sure. What mattered was the soft sound Luca made against his mouth, surprise and satisfaction mixed together. What mattered was that for the first time in years, Mateo stopped thinking and just felt.
When they finally broke apart, Luca was grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"Don't," Mateo warned.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're about to say. Don't make it weird."
"I was just going to point out that you're a really good kisser for someone who claims to hate spontaneity."
"I'm going to push you off this mountain."
"No, you won't. You like me too much."
The terrible part was, he wasn't wrong. Mateo did like him, had been fighting it for months because Luca represented everything he'd taught himself not to want: chaos and brightness and the terrifying possibility of happiness.
"We should go back down," Mateo said, but his hand found Luca's, fingers interlacing.
"We should," Luca agreed, making no move to leave. "But let's stay just a little longer. Watch the sunset. I promise to keep being obnoxiously cheerful so you can maintain your grumpy facade."
"I'm not grumpy. I'm realistic."
"Sure, querido. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
The sun dipped lower, turning the sky into a masterpiece of reds and golds. Tomorrow they'd have to face reality: the presentation, their colleagues, all the complicated logistics of whatever this was becoming. But for now, suspended between earth and sky with the city of Rio sprawling below them, Mateo let himself have this: Luca's hand in his, the warmth of possibility, the heights of desire.
Maybe spontaneity wasn't so terrible after all.
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