Page 23 of Until We Come Home

"Yeah, it's easily a fifteen-minute stroll between the two."

"Oh, that is dangerously close." She grins, reaching across to swipe another piece of my bacon. "We're practically neighbors!"

"Pretty much," I say. "I managed to push my search and rescue assignments back East to the fall, so that's all taken care of. Now I just have to face the hard part and tell my mom I'm staying out West for the whole summer."

"We can jump on a FaceTime call together," she offers. "I'll do damage control and cushion the blow."

I smile at that. Mia started calling my mom on her own about a year after we met, simply because that's just how warm and open she is, and now the two of them have their own separate bond.

My mom raised me on her own and never had much family around, while Mia's parents are strictly the holiday-card type, so somewhere along the line they adopted one another. Half the time, my mom checks in on how Mia's doing before she even asks about me.

"Oh yeah? You think you can handle her?" I ask, suppressing a grin.

"Absolutely," she says. "Were the search and rescue folks upset about you shifting your schedule?"

"Nah, they've got plenty of coverage back East right now, so it wasn't a problem," I say, taking another drink of black coffee.

"Perfect. So we're officially clear." She raises her ceramic mug across the table. "To the summer.”

"To the summer.” I tap my cup against hers with a soft clink, right as the rain starts to patter against the window.

Monday morning in Seattle, and the sunlight cuts warm across the pavement as I roll up to Station 7. It sits on a corner in the north end with its bay doors propped open to the morning, the engine nosed out into the sun and the brush rig tucked in behind it.

Pulling up to the curb in Alex's Jeep, which mostly sits parked whenever he's down in California, I climb out, sling my duffel over my shoulder, and make my way toward the open bay.

The station is a squat two-story brick box from the sixties, red gone brown with age, with three bay doors across the front and a flat roof bristling with antennas. Seattle Fire Station 7 is lettered above the bay doors in faded white, the brick still chipped at one corner where somebody clipped it with the engine years ago. Not a single thing has changed since I walked away last August.

I walk in through the open bay to see a pair of boots sticking out from under the engine, a creeper wheel squeaking as somebody shifts underneath it. She rolls out on the creeper, wipes her hands on a rag, and looks me over from the boots up without getting off the floor. Brown braid, glasses pushed up on her head, and the general unimpressed expression she tends to give everyone before breaking into a smile.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Rebecca says, tossing the rag onto a tool cart.

"Morning, Bec," I say, dropping my duffel near the tire.

"Mm-hm," she says, getting up to pull me into a quick, hard hug before stepping back to hold me by the shoulders. "Good to see you, Boston. I was hoping Barnes would convince you to stick around for the season."

I smile back. "I came pretty close to hopping a flight back home for search contracts, but I managed to reschedule things. Word is the fire season's ramping up early."

She winces, her dark brows knitting together. "It's dry out there. We haven't seen real rain since May, and the fuels on the east side are already dry as tinder. If those August winds kick up, it's going to be brutal."

"Yeah, that's what Barnes said," I say. "Glad I'll be here to help."

“Me too.” Her expression softens, and she gives my arm a quick squeeze. "Anyway, I won't keep you standing around in the bay. Barnes is in his office waiting for you, and Callum and James are going to lose their minds when they see you. Oh, and we've got a fresh probie named Ollie who's been dying to meet you. Kid is barely twenty-one, and the guys have been filling his head with your wilder calls, so he thinks you're some kind of legend."

"Great," I say. "Can't wait to let him down in person."

"Well, we all have to be a disappointment to someone." She smiles. "Welcome back, Mateo."

I laugh and head down the hall, but I don't get far before Callum and James come around the corner and see me. They're both around my age and two of the best firefighters I've ever worked beside.

I've worked with them enough times over the years to know how they move on a fireground, but we became friends somewhere between the second summer and the third, over bad coffee and worse calls.

Both of them are built like linebackers. Callum’s got messy brown hair, pale Irish skin that burns the second the sun comes out, and a mouth that lands him in the captain’s office twice a season. James has dark brown skin and the easiest laugh in the building, and he’s traded the afro he had last summer for a clean fade. They both break into wide grins when they see me.

"Boston's back," James says. "Bec mentioned yesterday that you were coming, but I figured she was pulling our leg."

"I told you he wouldn't blow us off," Callum says, vindicated. "He knows Bec would track him down."

"She definitely would," I laugh, exchanging a heavy forearm smash with each of them. "Drove in from Dark River this morning, so you're catching me pre-caffeine. Go easy on me."