Page 11 of Until We Come Home

“So you’ve appointed yourself as my personal matchmaker now?” I ask.

She nods, her hazel eyes deadpan. “It’s exhausting work given how stubbornly you fight it, but as your best friend, I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

“Best friend?” I ask, tipping my chin up just to push her buttons.

It’s a game we play, and she falls for it every single time. Despite living on opposite coasts for most of the year, we text continuously throughout the day and haven’t skipped a single Sunday phone call in two years.

“Oh, don’t even try it,” she says, pointing a finger at my chest. “I am your best friend, and you’re lucky to have me. Without my intervention, your social life would collapse into full-blown hermit territory. You’ve got that whole lone-wolf routine down, and there’s a very thin line between mysterious handsome stranger and the odd guy lurking in the shadows with a duffel bag.”

“Too late for that advice,” I say. “I just bought a new duffel last week.”

“Even worse than I thought,” she says, shaking her head with dramatic pity. “You’re about two days away from moving into a cave.”

“It’s called being practical when my schedule’s split between Boston shifts and search deployments out here in the Pacific Northwest,” I say.

“Don’t change the subject,” she says. “We’re talking about Megan. Who knows, she might actually end your legendary dry spell.”

“It’s hardly legendary,” I tell her, using a stray twig to adjust the dry wood in the pit. Though I have been leaning into the hermit lifestyle lately. “And I’m not really eager to dissect my love life sitting by Calvin’s fire pit.”

“Relax, Mateo,” she says. “Opening up is good for you. That’s what friends do. Look at me, I give you the full rundown on every disastrous date I go on.”

I snort. "Sometimes I wish I got significantly less detail about those."

“If you’re referring to the bad sushi incident, those details were critical for the story,” she insists. “Besides, you were nearly crying laughing once I got to the part with the waiter.”

“Okay, fair point, that was hilarious, even if it ruined oysters for me for a month,” I say. “But I was actually thinking about the guy with the mirrored ceilings. That particular play-by-play was way more vivid than necessary.”

“Ugh, mirror guy.” She makes a face at the memory. “That’s what happens when I let someone buy me tequila. Surfer bros sound fun in concept, but they’re never worth the hangover.”

“Lesson learned, hopefully,” I say.

“Laugh all you want,” she says, bumping her sneaker against mine. “Seriously, though. About Megan. I know you’re not out hunting for a grand romance, but having a little fun wouldn’t hurt. You mentioned a few months back that you were open to putting yourself back out there.”

“In theory,” I clarify, picking at the edge of my beer label. “I’m not in any rush. Either way, Megan's off the table. I’m pretty sure she's tight with Maren, and the absolute last thing I need is a fling with one of my sister-in-law's friends, only to run into her at every single Midnight event for the rest of eternity."

"Okay, fine," Mia groans, throwing her hands up. "I surrender. I refuse to waste my matchmaker talents where they aren't appreciated. Time to find a much more cooperative target."

Her eyes dart across the lawn, surveying the crowd for her next victim. Up near the food spread, Dominic is loudly refereeing a heated game of cornhole while Jack argues a point that Dominic is flatly ignoring. Right beside them, Brooke is bent over laughing at the whole circus, soaking in the summer afternoon.

I look back over at Mia. "How are things with you, anyway? Speaking of romantic pursuits."

“You mean the latest update with Derek?” She lets out a soft laugh. “I’m good, really. Enjoying the single life, even if I know you think our on-and-off routine is completely ridiculous."

“I’ll admit I’ve never really understood it,” I say. “Though to be clear, I think he’s the ridiculous one, not you.”

“Understood,” she says gravely. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

I’ve only hung out with Derek a few times over the last two years. Mia and I always try to grab dinner whenever our wild schedules line up in the same city, squeezing in quick weekend visits between my contracts and her tours. Much to my annoyance, since I can’t stand him, he’s tagged along on a few of those dinners.

He’s decent enough on the surface, but his nonchalant attitude toward her blows my fucking mind. Mia is easily my favorite person on the planet and any sane man’s dream girl, and he treats her like a hobby.

Acts like he’s enlightened for caring so little, like it’s some evolved thing to keep telling her they should take a break and see other people instead of just doing long distance for a few months whenever one of them has to travel a bit. She claims to feel the same and love the freedom, but she gets sad every fucking time it happens.

I’ll never understand it.

“Teasing aside,” I say, softening my tone. “Are you really doing alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, giving a faint smile. “I was a little down at first, mostly because I hate when I’m not the one initiating the split. Plus, I think he’s already seeing someone else in LA, which is moving faster than usual, so I don’t love that. But hey, I’m here with you, enjoying the Pacific Northwest. I’m just going to embrace the space and see where things land later on.”