Page 18 of Until We Come Home

Lark stretches once more and pushes herself up off the log. “Sounds like a plan. Have fun out here.”

She gives me a look that says far more than it should, and I laugh and flick a marshmallow stick in her direction. Jack annoyingly catches it mid-air, and the two of them do a quick round of goodbyes before heading up the lawn toward the cars. I settle back into the firelight, hugging my knees to my chest, ready for the midnight show across the water.

The midnight show was worth staying for—twenty minutes of fireworks blooming over the black water, better than the town’s display just like Maren promised. I’m still a little giddy from it when I step inside the cabin and turn a slow circle in the middle of the room.

It’s two cabins, really, each with its own little porch and its own door, connected by a short center hallway with a tiny kitchen and bathroom off it. I sing the tune Lark was playing by the fire as I poke around, opening a drawer here and running a hand over the quilt there. Cedar walls, a woven rug underfoot, a stained-glass lamp on the nightstand. So charmingly Pacific Northwest.

“God, I’m in love with this place,” I say. “So this is your little hideaway whenever you’re in Dark River?”

“Well,” Mateo says, leaning in through the doorway from the hall, “it’s usually a lot quieter in here. I didn’t realize my stay came with a private concert.”

Grabbing a pillow off the bed, I launch it at his face. He laughs and pulls the door shut just in time, the pillow thumping harmlessly against it, and I roll my eyes and go get it back, since I’m the one sleeping on it tonight.

I drop onto the mattress and sink into the bedding. It’s the good kind—heavy, cool—and the small AC window unit humming away in Mateo’s room is enough for the whole place, considering the cabin is so tiny. I could fall asleep right now, but I force myself up to wash my face.

The bathroom is down the short hall between my room and his, and the light is already on. Mateo is leaning against the counter in gray sweatpants and no shirt.

We're platonic, obviously, but I'm not blind. Fighting wildland fires does wonders for a guy's build. Broad shoulders, lean torso, and arms that should probably come with a warning label. He shifts aside to give me room as I squeeze past toward the sink.

"You really don't believe in personal boundaries, do you?" he asks, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

"We've hooked up before, Mateo," I point out, squeezing toothpaste onto the spare brush Maren left on the tray. "I'm hardly going to faint because you're shirtless by the sink."

He makes a low, skeptical noise. "Hooked up? That's generous, considering the smoke alarm went off and then⁠—"

"The mouse." The sheer ridiculousness of it comes right back, and I bust out laughing.

A full smile breaks across his face. "Right. Pretty sure my ears are still recovering from the pitch of your scream."

I swat his shoulder, attempting a stern expression and failing miserably. "Hey! It caught me off guard, okay? God, what an absolute disaster of a hookup."

I spit and rinse, catching his reflection in the glass as he reaches for a clean black T-shirt. A flicker of heat goes through me, taking me by surprise as my body registers the fact that we never actually finished what we started in Napa.

Maybe it's just the recent dry spell—I haven't been with anyone since that short fling with a dancer in Portland right after Derek and I called it off again—but standing inches from his bare chest is not helping my focus.

My pulse jumps, and a sensible voice in my head reminds me that opening that door is a terrible idea. Usually, a casual thing is easy for me to navigate. But Mateo is different. He's been different from the night we met out on the patio. Off-limits, really, simply because of how deeply I've come to rely on him. Still, it doesn't change the fact that he looks like that.

Even so, we're friends. Strictly.

I grab my face wash and scrub my skin with unnecessary enthusiasm.

He drags the shirt down over his head, stretches until his back pops, and yawns. "You need anything else before I crash?"

“Nope. Got clothes to sleep in, got a bed. I'm good."

"Alright, goodnight then, lounge singer," he mumbles.

I offer a small smile, water still dripping off my chin, and he returns it before taking the few steps to his room and leaving his door propped open an inch.

I retreat to my side of the cabin, suddenly hyper-aware of the quiet and the two of us tucked away out here in the woods. I click off the overhead light and climb onto the mattress. The only glow left comes from the stained-glass lamp, throwing shades of amber and rose across the cedar paneling.

The sound of Mateo shifting in bed just down the tiny hallway, if you can even call it that, brings a soft smile to my lips. I push away the slightly inadvisable but completely understandable horny thoughts. That's what vibrators are for. Much less likely to ruin a perfectly good friendship.

When I first met Mateo, it was one of those rare moments where you recognize someone meant to be in your life for good. Like our souls took one look at each other and went, oh, there you are. Still, every now and then, the boundary gets a little blurry. Not that I blame him.

Well, maybe I blame those abs a little bit.

I reach for the bedside lamp and switch it off, plunging the bedroom into near-total blackness. Snuggling down under the sheets, I listen to the creaks of the cabin settling. Something rustles right outside my window.