Page 47 of Until We Come Home

I glance past the monitors and spot Mateo over by the barricades. He’s standing with a pretty brunette in her early thirties who’s leaning in to whisper something to him, and he’s listening with that dark, focused gaze of his. Which isn’t abnormal for Mateo. His default expression is intense and moody. Total Scorpio.

Except this time, a fierce spike of jealousy slices straight through my chest at the sight of them together. What are they even talking about? Why is she standing so close to him? He’s literally on shift right now, meant to be running safety for the set, not entertaining local women on the sidewalk.

For a wild second, I consider marching over there to interrupt, but thankfully my lingering sanity pulls me back from the edge. I need to get a grip on myself. My phone vibrates against my hand, and I look down at the screen, grateful for an excuse to tear my eyes away from Mateo while Lark leans over the monitor to check the playback with the crew.

Derek: Hope the shoot goes amazing tonight! Also, surprise news—I'm heading to Seattle in a few days. Got a sudden meeting lined up with Connie about a new project. Long story, but I'd love to grab lunch if you're free? Zero pressure either way. Break a leg!

My stomach turns over. We’ve been chatting back and forth all week, keeping it light, and I’d mentioned tonight’s production to him earlier. I’ve even caught myself mulling over the thought of giving us another shot, even if I’m not entirely convinced it’s the right move.

I just want this sudden, suffocating weirdness with Mateo to disappear so we can slide right back into our old groove. Back when I was carefree with Derek, and Mateo was simply my closest guy friend whom I could casually set up on dates without a second thought.

What went wrong? Why does everything feel so heavy all of a sudden?

When I look up again, Mateo is walking toward me, and the brunette is walking with him. I gulp. Okay. Great. Fucking fantastic. I straighten up and put on my best normal-person face.

“Hey! What were you up to over there?” I say, the words slipping out a bit more accusatory than I intended.

If he catches the edge in my voice, he doesn't show it, his dark brows drawn together. A short distance away, the woman hovers with a hurried, expectant look on her face.

“I need to head out,” he says, his voice low and brisk. “Tones just dropped for a structure call. Isolated cabin blaze up past the ridge road, and Dark River's running on a skeleton crew tonight. This is Mariah, she’s on the volunteer roster too. The rig here has to stay with the pyro, so she’s running me to the station to grab my gear and get on the brush rig.”

A dozen conflicting emotions pile up before I can sort a single one. Instant panic for his safety as he runs off to another call, a quiet prayer that the cabin is empty and no people or pets are caught inside, and a flush of embarrassment over my petty jealousy. Here I was sulking because he was talking to a pretty girl, while he was just coordinating a run to go save lives.

“Okay,” I say, nodding seriously as my heart hammers against my ribs. “Please be careful out there, and good luck. I hope everything turns out alright.”

He nods, leaning down to press a quick, warm kiss against my cheek that sends an electric spark trailing all the way down my neck, and then he's already turning on his heel.

“Always am,” he calls back over his shoulder. “You were brilliant tonight, Mia. I’ve got a whole list of compliments lined up for when I get back.”

I give him a half-smile, watching him jog off into the dim evening light, his long stride carrying him around the corner of Front Street alongside Mariah toward her vehicle. Over by the main rig, the assistant director’s voice booms over the speakers, calling everyone back to their marks as the crew rushes to set the lighting for our final sequence.

The muted strains of music float through my room at the inn, but my eyes keep darting back to the screen of my phone every two minutes. It’s almost midnight.

The shoot wrapped hours ago, and I’ve taken a hot shower and changed into comfy pants and an old sweatshirt. But I’m still pacing around the room unable to settle down because I haven’t heard a single word from Mateo.

I keep the playlist going low while I mark through a few steps of the benefit routine, letting my body run on autopilot. Dancing usually grounds me, settling my racing thoughts no matter what’s going on around me.

But it’s been hours since he left for that call, and my stomach is tying itself tighter by the minute. I know he’s staying at the cabin on Calvin and Maren’s property, but he should have texted me by now.

Right at that moment, there’s a soft knock at the door. Confusion hits me first, given that people don’t usually show up unannounced at midnight at an inn. I cross the room and peek through the peephole, throwing the door open the instant I recognize the figure standing in the hallway.

Mateo is standing on the threshold in his street clothes, a smudge of dark soot streaked across his cheek, looking exhausted and visibly shaken.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Mind if I come in?”

I pull him into a tight hug, my arms wrapping around him as if I need physical proof that he’s really here. He smells faintly of woodsmoke and ash, but he’s solid and warm against me, and I sag against him, weak with relief now that I know he’s safe.

Whatever happened on that ridge, we can talk through it or just sit in silence, but he’s here. I press my face into his shoulder and squeeze him tighter.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, holding me close.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll allow it,” I say against his shirt, then reluctantly step back to look up at his face. “What happened out there?”

He looks wrung out, and I step aside to let him in, shutting the door behind us. He takes in the room briefly, the small space and the rumpled bed and my dance bag spilling out on the chair, and then sinks down onto the edge of the bed. I follow and sit beside him, close, and wait.

“I got to the scene,” he says quietly. “And it was a bad one. Which... that fucking happens, you know? It’s not like I haven’t seen some shit.”

I nod silently. I know he has. The vehicle extrications, the structure fires—I’ve seen him after brutal shifts before. He compartmentalizes well, usually, better than most people could, a natural at carrying it. But some are harder than others.