Page 91 of Until We Come Home

I nearly miss my footing on the gravel path.

“You can’t just throw threats like that around in public,” I tell her, tightening my grip on her hip. “That’s playing dirty.”

“That’s the beauty of it. I love knowing the leverage I have over you,” she gloats, without an ounce of remorse.

I pull her in and kiss her temple. This whole season still doesn’t feel real—a life with her I never thought I’d get to have. After Lindsey died, I’d pretty much given up on the idea of forever, resigning myself to long shifts and empty rooms. It’s still hard to believe how long it took us to figure things out, but standing here with her, I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “I got a new clue about the fireworks guy.”

“The fireworks guy?” I ask, smiling.

“Remember the Fourth of July, how they said some mysterious rich guy throws the show every year?” she says, looking at me like I’ve failed a pop quiz. “Town lore about him is getting out of control. Emma says tech millionaire, the bakery lady says nineties boy band... oh, let’s get those!”

She gestures toward a wooden booth selling fresh funnel cakes, and we cut across the grass toward it.

“Right, the mystery man on the point,” I say as we step into the line.

“Exactly. Well, Marjorie down at the postal counter told me a package came through with a real return address, and he’s definitely not a former boy band singer,” she says, leaning in like she’s sharing state secrets. “So I’m practically one step away from cracking the whole case.”

“Sounds to me like you’re still entirely in the dark,” I tease.

“You’re no fun at all,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just watch, I’ll figure it out before the night’s over.”

We pick up our food and wander through the lights, sharing warm bites of fried dough and trying our hand at a few midway booths while the festival carries on around us.

Staying at the little cabin on Calvin and Maren’s property feels like coming full circle. It brings me straight back to the Fourth of July, the night that kicked all of this off, only now we’re sharing a bed instead of being split between two rooms.

Mia stands by the window, peeking out past the curtains toward the small porch and the lawn beyond, where the inlet stretches into the shadows. The sky has gone black, the autumn storm rolling in across the water.

“Wow,” she says, pressing her fingertips to the cold window. “It’s so moody and wild out there. I love this weather!”

“If you think this is something, you should see Boston in the fall,” I say, stepping up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist.

“Oh my gosh, yes!” She turns in my arms. “We need to go see your mom anyway. Maybe Halloween? A week at the end of the month, if we can both get away, and we stay with her. You can show me all your spots.”

“That’d be nice. She’d lose her mind,” I say, resting my chin on top of her head and looking past her out the window.

Rain hammers the porch rail, and we listen to the distant roll of thunder over the water. Hopefully it keeps up long enough that the lightning doesn’t spark anything. There are still pockets in the hills around here that are bone dry for this time of year.

Mia looks up at me, tilting her head. “Where’d you just go?”

“Just thinking about the fire risk,” I admit.

She laughs. “Why am I not even a little bit surprised?”

“Occupational hazard,” I say, smiling.

“Well, I happen to love your nerdy safety obsession,” she says, leaning into my chest. “Plus, I have to admit, it’s hot.”

I grin, trailing my fingers along her waist. “Is that so?”

“Most definitely,” she says, rising onto her toes until her lips meet mine. I kiss her back, pulling her close as her mouth opens under mine.

She melts against me like her body was made for mine. The kiss deepens fast, and I tangle my hand in her hair, still amazed that she’s really here with me like this.

She reaches up and tugs my shirt over my head, flashing a breathless grin as I pull the oversized sweater off her. She shimmies out of her jeans and kicks them aside, and then she’s standing in front of me in a delicate set of black lace lingerie.

The air goes out of my lungs. The swell of her breasts, the long curve of her waist, the sheer edge of lace against her hip.