Page 94 of Until We Come Home

Mateo and I are tucked into the two weathered chairs with a blanket over my legs and a mug of coffee warming my hands, our fingers laced together across the gap between the armrests. I’m sore in all the best places, and I haven’t stopped smiling since I opened my eyes.

I keep thinking about Claudia’s offer. I know saying yes is the right thing. I’ve known for a while, if I’m honest with myself, and this morning, sitting here with him, I think I’m finally ready to take that leap and commit to it, scary as it is.

“So,” I say, taking a slow sip and peeking at him over the rim. “Last night. A lot of things were said.”

He grins, slow and unrepentant, stretching his long legs out toward the porch rail. “What can I say? I enjoy the dirty talk.”

“Shut up, you menace.” I reach over and pinch his forearm. “Be serious for one second.”

“I am being serious,” he says, his smile easing, his thumb tracing my knuckles. “I meant it. Every word. You know exactly how serious I am about you, Mia. I don’t do anything halfway, and I’m sure as hell not doing you halfway.”

“And you’re a hundred percent sure about us? All of it? Because this is a massive leap,” I say, chewing my lip as I turn the mug between my palms. “I mean, I’m the first real thing for you since Lindsey. Just playing devil’s advocate here. What if you’re diving in headfirst because I’m the first person you’ve opened up to?”

He looks at me like I’m being a little insane but he’s fond of me for it, and I narrow my eyes right back at him.

“Are you interested in seeing other people?” he asks, grinning into his coffee.

I roll my eyes. “You know damn well I’m not. You’ve got me hooked, so wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Thank God,” he says, chuckling. “To answer your question, no. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

I take another sip, trying to hide how much his words warm me, and watch the breeze stir the fallen leaves before looking back at him.

“Good,” I say. “Because you can’t go changing your mind a year down the road. You’re officially forbidden from running away. It’s practically illegal now.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he sets his mug on the floorboards and turns in his chair, those dark eyes locked on mine, all the teasing gone.

“Mia,” he says. “You’re it for me. You’ve been it since the night we met in Napa, and that’s never changing. Not in a year, not in fifty.”

He draws my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. My chest fills until it aches. My mind drifts to Meridian, to the youth company and Jada and Claudia, to the rain against my sublet windows, and how Seattle finally feels like home. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.

“Well,” I say, setting the cup down. “I suppose I ought to give Claudia an answer about⁠—”

His phone buzzes against the wooden armrest, shattering the quiet. I glance down and catch the caller ID. Dark River Fire. My stomach drops.

He isn’t scheduled for a shift out here, and he wasn’t supposed to be on call this weekend. But it’s a small town, and we spent half of last night eating funnel cake with the station crew at the festival. They wouldn’t ring his cell at eight on a Sunday morning unless something serious had dropped.

“Hello?” he answers, sitting up straight, his jaw going hard. He listens, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Alright. Where do you need me? Got it. I’m ten minutes out.”

He ends the call and looks at me, and what I see in his face sets my heart racing.

“Dry lightning,” he says, already pushing up off his chair. “The rain didn’t hit the east side of the ridge at all. Only the valley got soaked. A strike landed up in the timber overnight and sat smoldering, and the morning gusts just blew it open. They’re calling it brush, but it’s miles of dry tinder up on that slope.”

“Oh my God,” I murmur, standing as the blanket slides off my legs.

“They’re short-handed,” he says, snatching his jacket off the chair back. “I’m sorry, Mia. I have to go.”

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice coming out thinner than I want it to. “It’s the price of being in love with a do-gooder, right?”

He pulls me in by the waist and kisses me, hard and quick. And as he does, a strange, cold feeling slides through me. I like to joke that I’m a little bit psychic. Mostly it is a joke, something to laugh about with Lark over too much wine.

But a few times in my life I’ve felt something like this, a heavy, sinking certainty I couldn’t explain, and every time, I’ve been right. Dread settles in the pit of my stomach like a stone.

“Mateo, wait,” I blurt as he pulls away, grabbing his keys off the little table between our chairs.

He turns back, frowning. “What is it?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, desperate and clumsy. “I mean, what if... you’re not even on duty. You’re not even supposed to be working. They have their own people. Can’t you just let them handle it this once?”