Page 46 of Until We Come Home

I can’t keep my eyes off her for more than a second or two, and there’s no point in lying to myself anymore about what I’ve been burying for two years straight.

I’m in love with Mia.

Some part of it has been there all along, a constant hum under the surface, like it was waiting for me to stop looking the other way. Maybe I could shove it down or pretend it was nothing for all this time, but not anymore. The more time we spend together in one place, the more I can’t fight how much she’s gotten under my skin. But I don’t know what to fucking do with it.

I always told myself I wouldn’t go here again. The idea of moving on past Lindsey feels like such a betrayal to her memory, to the life she didn’t get to have. And Mia’s so wonderful, I think she deserves someone way better than me, with my self-loathing and my habit of walking into things I shouldn’t and the weeks where I go quiet on everyone.

But I’m not sure how to stop loving her like this, how to put it back where it was.

The first assistant director's voice cuts through the quiet evening air, booming over the loudspeakers positioned down Front Street.

"Okay, folks, we're going to walk the street sequence! Dancers to first positions, please. First positions. Quiet on set!"

The crowd quiets, a few murmurs passing through as dozens of phone cameras lift into the air. The dancers all drift to their marks along the street, finding their places, the others fanned out behind Mia in simpler versions of her outfit, silvery and plain, but there’s no question who the star of this is.

The director gives a final signal to the camera operator, and Mia reaches one arm overhead, long and elegant, before turning her head and catching my eye across the street. A wide, bright smile breaks across her face, lighting up the dark, and something fierce and warm catches in my chest. I wave back, and she throws me a teasing wink.

The director calls action and she locks into place, all signs of playful Mia gone, and the performer takes over. She moves like water as the music starts, every line of her body telling the story of the song.

I’ve seen dozens of videos of Mia dancing before, I’ve seen her goofing around in the kitchen while I cook, marking steps in the hallway of her sublet with her headphones in, but I haven’t actually gotten a chance to see her perform live. We’re always on opposite sides of the country when it counts.

It takes the breath right out of me, and I can’t see anything but her. She was born to do this, it’s clear enough. She leads, and the dancers behind her mirror her every gesture like a single organism.

The pyro tech hits the cue and the flames go up, six columns of fire roaring in a line behind them, and the dancers move through the light of it, fluid and untouched. I can feel Lark beside me now, out of the trailer and in costume, smiling at the show with Jack’s arms around her. I barely register them.

Her dress ripples like liquid silver as she bends into a deep extension, pouring every ounce of emotion into her movements. She’s giving it everything she’s got like every beat of it matters.

The sequence ends with Mia on her knees in the middle of Front Street, arms flung out wide, head back, chest heaving, and the whole block goes dead silent. As soon as the director yells cut, the sidewalks burst into applause. The book club gives her a standing ovation from their lawn chairs, whistles and all.

Lark cheers beside me with Maren, whistling too, hollering to the dancers, who all grin and wave back. Mia scrambles up laughing, and gives the whole street a deep, ridiculous bow that only gets a bigger roar from the crowd. She’s a total natural out here, holding the whole space in the palm of her hand, and I whistle along with the rest of them.

She looks over at me and does a little excited jump and a big, goofy wave. I whistle again, louder this time, smiling like a fool, like she put on that entire show just for me.

CHAPTER 11

Mia

By the third take, I’m practically floating through the routine. The heat from the fire columns washes across the pavement, and as the music swells, I lose myself entirely in the rhythm.

This choreography leans far more heavily into my ballet roots than my usual commercial work, and as the crowd lining Front Street begins to blur into the background, all my excited energy melts into pure focus.

I’m in my element.

Through all of it I can feel Mateo’s eyes on me, locked on like they have been since the first take, the intensity of his gaze the one fixed point on the whole street, and I feel like I’m dancing only for him, like I’m pouring everything I have into it for an audience of one. His attention burns into me and pulls the emotion out of me, more of it than I knew I had to give.

The director calls cut and the sidewalks erupt again, and I come back to myself in a rush, the other dancers crowding in around me and I laugh, pausing to catch my breath and taking the water bottle someone hands me for a long gulp. I turn back and scan the sidewalk for Mateo, but his broad, tall figure is nowhere to be seen.

A pang of disappointment catches me off guard, and I try to brush off the weird sensation of feeling adrift the second he’s out of sight. We’re about to shoot the section where Lark sings the final chorus and I move around her, mirroring the song’s emotion as she pours her soul into the lyrics. The night air has settled over the inlet, the warm streetlights casting long shadows across the set, and in just a few minutes we'll be rolling again.

Lark steps onto the mark beside me, looking absolutely stunning in her outfit.

“Wow.” I wave a hand at her, grinning. “Total babe. An absolute knockout. You know, it’s ridiculously unfair for one person to get the whole package—the gorgeous looks, the insane talent, and being genuinely sweet. Usually you only get to pick one.”

“Look who’s talking!” Lark laughs, a faint blush dusting her cheeks at the compliment. “You looked like a literal dream out there.”

I strike a playful pose. “Well, I’m never going to turn down praise.”

That gets another chuckle out of her, and we chat while the production team readjusts the lighting for the next camera pass. The other dancers are clustered near the edge of the street, sipping water and catching their breath while the crew prepares the frame. The pyro sequence is officially done, leaving us with a stripped-down, far more intimate set for the finale.