Page 3 of Until We Come Home

“Hmm. A room full of Midnights wasn’t your smartest move, then,” she says, throwing my own line back at me with a smirk.

I burst out laughing. "You got me. In my defense, I never claimed to make great life choices. I run into burning buildings for a living."

“Okay, that’s a solid defense.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Go on, then. I spilled my deep dark personal secrets. Strangers, remember? No risk in telling. Recent breakup too?”

I could easily dodge the question. Ordinarily, I avoid talking about it with anyone, and I’ve had years of practice keeping it locked away. But she really is a complete stranger, and she’s weirdly easy to talk to, like we’ve known each other for years instead of four hours.

"Uh, not exactly. My wife, Lindsey, died," I say, before I can think much better of it. "A little over three years back. So it's not recent or anything. I think I've hit all five stages of the grieving process, though I'm a bit stuck in the last one, the general getting-on-with-it part. Mostly I'm fine enough. But stuff like this still hits me sideways sometimes."

Mia looks at me for a long second, and then she nods.

“Okay, yeah. That definitely puts stress-eating four bread rolls over a breakup in perspective, or my sad parent divorce backstory that half the population shares,” she says.

An unexpected laugh slips out of me. “Well, I suppose it takes the prize, then. Though I wasn’t trying to turn this into a competition for the most tragic backstory.”

She reaches for my beer, and I hand it over without thinking, and she takes a sip. “You’re really making it hard to feel sorry for myself over here. In all seriousness, Mateo, I’m so sorry. That’s about as horrible a thing as I can imagine.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, turning my eyes back toward the dark valley. “It was. I do alright most days now, but all that romantic talk inside...”

I let it trail off. Everyone spent half of dinner on Alex and Isabelle’s engagement, and I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering back to those first years with Lindsey.

She takes another sip of my beer. “That makes sense.” She hesitates. “Do you like talking about her? Lindsey?”

I smile. “Sometimes. Depends on the day, and who’s asking.”

“Well, stranger and all, you can always talk to me,” she says. “I promise no pitying looks or awkward silences. You seem like the kind of person who doesn’t like a fuss.”

“I don’t, and thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I clear my throat as she hands the beer back. “So. You’re a dancer, right?”

“Not a fan of the segue, huh?” She arches a brow at me.

“Well, I don’t want to drag the whole conversation down with my depressing backstory,” I say.

“Ah, right. Wouldn’t want to ruin the vibrant party energy out here.” She gestures between the two of us, hiding behind a stone wall from a room full of loved-up couples, her face perfectly deadpan.

“Obviously. Plus, I figured you came out here to feel sorry for yourself, not for me,” I say. “If I shut up about it now, your breakup still has a shot at winning. It’s a much fresher wound.”

“So sweet. Look at you, defying the brisk East Coast stereotype,” she says with a grin. “And to answer your question, yeah, I dance.”

“What kind of dance?” I ask, and I’m surprised by how much I want to know.

“I spent most of my youth training in classical ballet,” she says, lightly rocking up onto her toes as she speaks. “Then I shifted over to contemporary and commercial gigs a few years back. Music videos—which is actually how I met Lark. These days I mostly tour with artists as a backing dancer.”

I whistle. “And I thought my job was physically intense. I bet that takes a toll.”

“It does,” she says, laughing. “My body takes a beating, and after all those years of ballet training, I’m practically guaranteed a joint replacement down the road. But I’m obsessed with it. Plus, getting paid to travel and perform on big stages all over the world isn’t a bad trade-off.”

“Sounds like a cool life. Different city every night, never bored.”

“It is. It keeps me busy, and I’m moving around so much I never have time to get stuck anywhere, which is exactly how I like it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Calvin said you bounce around a lot too? Boston, Dark River, Seattle? And some search and rescue work somewhere?”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the wall. “I like keeping busy too. Guess we’re on the same page there.”

"Running from your problems?" She smiles.

"Running toward other people's," I tell her. "It pays better."

She laughs and digs into the small side pocket of her dress and comes out with a cheap plastic lighter and a slightly crushed joint that looks like it’s been living in there for days.