Page 105 of Until We Come Home

So I pulled up Claudia’s email, the one with all the formal details about the offer, and typed out my reply, accepting the position.

It was time for a new chapter. I fought it for so long, believing I was someone who never stayed in one place, clinging to that girl without realizing that while I loved those days, they aren’t what I want anymore. I want to stay at Meridian and build something that’s mine. I want Mateo back, and I want us in Seattle, both of us stepping into this next phase together. His walls, mine, all the ways we’ve both been running for so long, and now, finally, stopping, side by side.

Three hours later, I’m still holding my phone, the sent email open on the screen. I keep rereading my own words, half expecting them to disappear. Gus has curled up next to Laila at my feet, both of them sleeping peacefully, their steady breathing a small comfort in the quiet house.

So when my phone buzzes against my chest at 6:12, my heart nearly leaps out of my throat.

Mateo: I’m alright. Ollie and I got trapped by a spot fire last night. Had to deploy our shelters on a gravel pad by the water tank. He broke his ankle, but he’s gonna be fine. I’m good. Barely any signal up on this ridge. The fire’s finally laying down. Heading down the mountain soon. I love you.

I read the message once, then again, pressing the warm glass against my mouth while tears spill over so fast that Laila scrambles up onto the sofa to lick my face.

It was him. Deep down, I knew it the instant the reporter said it. But he’s safe. He made it through the night, and Ollie’s going to be fine. I wipe my cheeks on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and go wake up the whole house.

By eight o’clock, the entire Midnight clan is piled into two cars heading down the hill toward Front Street.

Calvin got word through Walt, who has a buddy working dispatch, that the Seattle strike team is being relieved this morning. Fresh crews are rolling in from the south to handle mop-up, and the guys are coming down off the ridge to regroup at the Dark River station before the long drive home.

Apparently, word traveled fast through town.

By the time we find parking three blocks out, Front Street is packed, people lining the sidewalks outside the little brick station with paper cups of free coffee from the bakery.

The sky still holds a pale, smoky haze, and the air tastes sharp, like woodsmoke. But the wind has died, replaced by a cool gray marine layer drifting in off the water, and for the first time since yesterday, the ridge behind town isn’t glowing orange. It’s just smoldering, thin plumes rising as if the whole mountain is exhausted.

Chloe’s carrying a cardboard sign she made out of a pizza box lid that says THANK YOU FIREFIGHTERS!!! in bright purple marker, decorated with a drawing of a fire truck that looks surprisingly like an F1 car. Henry is up on Calvin’s shoulders, clutching his toy rig and steering his dad by the ears while shouting “Truck! Truck!” at every vehicle that passes. Maren holds my hand the whole walk without a word, and I squeeze back just as hard.

“You holding up alright, sweetie?” Emma asks, handing me a steaming paper cup.

“I think so,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the warm cardboard. “I’ll feel a whole lot better once I see him with my own eyes. Right now I’m running on caffeine and adrenaline.”

Theo’s stress-cooking has been redirected to the volunteer department. Three catering trays are stacked in the back of his car, and Calvin helps him carry them to a folding table on the sidewalk beside a cooler of sports drinks and crates of donated snacks.

Half the town is out on the sidewalk, talking in low voices in the cool air. In a place this small, everyone knows someone up on that ridge, and we all know how close the flames came to Front Street. I crane my neck over the crowd, searching the road.

Captain Barnes’s pickup turns the corner first, his window down and an arm resting on the door. The sidewalk erupts, people waving handmade signs as the rigs follow slowly down the block in a long line, their red paint dulled under a coat of ash, lights flashing without sirens. Tired firefighters lean out of the cabs to wave, and the whole street cheers.

I rise onto my toes, scanning every window as they pass.

The third engine pulls up right in front of the bay doors. Rebecca steps down from the officer’s side, followed by Callum, then James, and then...

Mateo.

He climbs down out of the crew cab onto the pavement, and my breath catches.

He’s already shed his helmet and harness, his yellow Nomex unbuttoned over a fitted gray shirt. Soot streaks his jaw, his wavy black hair falls across his forehead, and both hands are wrapped in clean white gauze. He looks exhausted, filthy, and ridiculously handsome as he squints out at the crowd in the morning light.

Then his eyes catch mine, and I run.

He spots me coming and breaks into a wide, crooked smile, opening his arms just in time as I throw myself at him so hard he has to brace a foot back on the pavement. He lifts me clean off my feet, his arms locking around my waist while I wrap my legs around his hips and bury my face in his neck. He smells like woodsmoke, ash, and sweat, and I don’t care one bit. I cling to him with everything I’ve got.

“Hey,” he says into my hair, a laugh rumbling in his chest. “Did you miss me?”

“You have no idea,” I say against his skin. “I sat up all night terrified I was going to lose you.”

“I’m sorry. It got a little dicey out there,” he says, his hold on me tightening. “Though you’ll be happy to know I made some very responsible life choices for once.”

I lean back, my eyes welling even though I can’t stop smiling. “Oh? Since when are you Mr. Safety?”

He keeps his arms around me, grinning. “I’m a regular rule follower now. Very risk-averse, actually. Barnes said so himself.”