Page 9 of Until We Come Home

We both crack up and wander over to a wooden garden bench, sitting down and stretching our legs out into the cool grass, looking out toward the valley. The voices fade as the Midnights head upstairs, a heavy door closing somewhere above us, a light coming on in a second-floor window.

“So what happens to you tomorrow?” I ask. “Back to Boston?”

“Day after,” he says. “Then I’m on shift Tuesday. You?”

“LA on Monday. Then rehearsals for a show in Vegas for a week, then a thing in Toronto, and after that it gets fuzzy.” I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them.

The lavender rustles, and the mouse darts back out onto the lawn and stops a few feet from us, sitting up on his back legs and looking nervous about his life choices. After a second he starts grooming his whiskers with both hands, still shooting little glances our way between passes, like he’s decided we’re probably fine but isn’t ready to commit to it. I keep perfectly still. Mateo doesn’t move a muscle either.

“Okay,” I say quietly, so I don’t scare it. “I’m wide awake, I just got robbed of an orgasm thanks to a mouse, and I don’t feel like going inside yet. So you’re going to have to entertain me. I vote for wild firefighter tales or your craziest rescue stories.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah? Do you want a heroic story or a stupid story?”

I weigh it for all of one second. “Hmm. I vote stupid story.”

For the mouse’s sake he keeps his voice down the whole time, and I like listening to him. He’s quieter than the guys I usually end up next to at parties, a little intense, but there’s a lot going on underneath it, and once he gets going he’s surprisingly open and funny in a dry kinda way. Before long we’ve drifted from fire stories into the rest of it. His mom. The guys on his crew. Boston.

It turns out he’s a good listener too, and I end up telling him about dance, the touring, the insecurities I usually keep in a drawer, the part of my brain that never stops asking what’s next. I make friends fast and get along with just about everyone, but this is different. It’s as if we’ve known each other for years, and tonight is simply a long-overdue catch-up.

The mouse eventually makes up his mind, bolts across the open grass in a straight gray line, and disappears under the hedge on the far side of the garden for good this time. We both watch the spot where he went.

“Godspeed,” Mateo says.

“He’s been through a lot tonight,” I say.

I look over at Mateo. I missed out on what would’ve been a fantastic night, but I like him way too much to turn him into a quick fling. In fact, I think I like him too much to even attempt dating, considering I usually walk away from guys once the two-month mark hits. But a real friendship is something I keep forever.

“Give me your phone,” I say, holding out my hand.

He reaches into his pocket, eyeing me. “Why?”

“Because clearly we’re not meant for a one-night stand. The universe has been pretty loud about it.” I wiggle my fingers as he hands me the phone. “But if you’re down, I’d be open to being friends. I like you. You’re easy to talk to.”

I type my number into his contacts, save it, and pass it back. He studies the screen, then turns toward me with that slow, warm smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I’d like that,” he says, and he doesn’t look away.

“Good,” I say. “Though for the record, I text a lot, and I also love phone calls, so you’ve been warned.”

He laughs. “I ordinarily hate both texts and phone calls, but I think I can make an exception if they come from you.”

I hold out my hand to him. “Friends, then?”

He takes it, his grip warm and steady, and doesn’t let go right away. “Friends. Officially.”

We stay out there in the warm evening, talking about nothing in particular, the Count of Monte Cristo and the worst hotel either of us has ever stayed in and whether the mouse can actually find his way back to the same room, neither of us eager to go back inside just yet.

CHAPTER 2

Mateo

Two years later

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

My phone goes off in my pocket. I know who it is, but I pointedly ignore it, along with the guilt gnawing in my gut, since I already know the answer I’m likely to give him. So I keep my attention on building the fire pit in front of me and the ring of rocks I’m stacking around it.

I'm at my half-brother Calvin's place for the Fourth of July, and the party is in full swing, though after enough polite small talk to count as showing up, I slipped away to the edge of the property to prep the bonfire for tonight. There's no burn ban yet, but this fire season is shaping up to be a bad one.