Page 32 of Until We Come Home

We all crowd around the bay enjoying the meal together, the earlier heavy mood vanishing, and somewhere between James’s second helping and Callum’s story about the raccoon in the hose tower, the talk drifts to the benefit. Mia walks them through what Meridian is planning, the rig parked out front of the theater on the night of the show, and the crew there in the audience, in suits and ties.

I eat and listen and do my best not to look at her more than a friend should.

CHAPTER 7

Mia

“Isn’t it adorable?” I ask, gesturing broadly around the eclectically styled living room of my summer rental. Sunlight filters through the big windows, spilling over colorful mismatched rugs, woven macramé hangings, and a lush fern thriving in the corner.

Lark and Jack take it all in from the open kitchen, which is more or less part of the living area given its tiny footprint. But the stunning skyline view alone makes it worth every penny, not to mention the easy walk to Meridian each morning.

They're over for dinner tonight, and Mateo should be arriving any minute so we can all catch up over takeout. Lark wanders around the room on a slow tour, inspecting the shelves with appreciative hums.

She originally offered to cover my entire housing cost for the season, but I adamantly refused and convinced her to let Meridian handle it under their guest faculty budget. She still compromised by forcing a credit card into my hand for grocery runs, which I wasn't about to argue with.

"This place is fantastic," she says with a grin, pausing near the window where a glass evil eye pendant hangs from the curtain rod on a length of red cord. "Did you bring this with you?"

I laugh. "Guilty. It goes up before I unpack a single box, wherever I end up staying."

Her smile widens. "I should've known. You and your little rituals."

"Hey, a girl needs all the protection she can get," I say.

Lark chuckles and drifts back toward the kitchen nook where Jack is pulling out the beer options and pouring wine—a red from Maren's personal stash at the Black Lantern, because she always sends the best bottles. The two of them have been bouncing between Seattle and Dark River depending on Lark's shoot schedule and Jack's availability amidst his racing season.

He's the defending Formula One champion, currently fighting to keep his lead in the standings, so he's constantly jetting across Europe and getting swarmed by fans everywhere he goes. But he escapes back to Lark every chance he gets, spending half his life in airports just to be near her.

"So," Lark says, leaning against the counter with her glass in hand. "How's Seattle treating you? Not missing the LA heat? Or Vegas? Or New York?"

She counts the cities off on her fingers with a giggle, and I smile.

“Well,” I say, “I’m always a little nostalgic for somewhere, but summer up here is unreal. Mateo and I are going on a hike tomorrow morning, and I was spoiled for choice picking one.”

“Good,” Lark says. “The summers here are way better than people imagine. Though I don’t really mind the rainy winters either.”

“Likewise,” Jack says. “Lark and I are actually looking at buying a place around here over the next couple of years, just to make splitting time between Washington and Monaco a little more seamless.”

“Seriously?” My eyes jump between the two of them. “Oh, that’d be incredible. Then I’d have the ultimate excuse to crash in Seattle whenever I want.”

“You’d definitely be able to crash whenever.” Lark laughs. “Hopefully we get the time to start seriously looking soon. I see my folks all the time since we’re in LA a ton and they’re in SoCal, and we hit Mexico at least once a year. But we’re never up here enough, and we both miss it like crazy.”

That tracks. I know Jack is close with his whole family, and Lark and Maren are basically sisters, plus Lark grew up in Dark River, so it’s as special to her as it is to him. She talks about it constantly.

“Well, I can’t wait to see what you find,” I say, smiling at her. “You were right all those times you told me there’s just something special about the Pacific Northwest.”

I really am falling more in love with it by the day. The nature right outside the door, the Seattle music scene, Meridian filling my cup in a way nothing has in a long time, the coffee. Plus, despite everyone complaining about the bad drivers and the traffic, it’s nothing compared to the horrors of LA, though I’ll admit they drive a bit slow for my taste as a Californian. I’m about to ask what kind of house they’re picturing when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” I call, heading toward it, and Mateo lets himself in, tall and dark-haired in a T-shirt and jeans, carrying two bags of takeout, since unfortunately I don’t have a single cooking skill in my body. But hey, I can order good food with the best of them.

“Delivery,” he says, smiling warmly at me and then over at Jack and Lark.

“Thanks for picking it up on the way, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, taking the bags off his hands as he toes off his shoes by the door.

Jack hands him a beer from the counter. “How’s the station? Settling in? I feel like I’ve barely had a second to catch up with you.”

“Well, you’re only fighting for a championship in the middle of the season,” Mateo says, laughing and taking the beer. “But it’s great. The Seattle station is probably my favorite one to work at. I’m glad I ended up getting the call this summer.”

“More than Dark River and Boston?” Lark asks.