Page 13 of Until We Come Home

“You should definitely take it,” I tell her. “Three months is nothing, and you’ve told me how much Jada loves working with them. Plus you might enjoy being stuck in Seattle.”

“We should both stay,” she says, tugging on my sleeve again. “Skip the flight back to Boston. Let’s just jump in.”

I stare at her. "You've lost your mind."

"I'm dead serious! You take the fire contract, I take Meridian." She leans in. "Think about it, Mateo. We've never lived in the same city for more than a few days at a time."

"I'd have to shift all my search and rescue deployment dates back in Boston," I point out.

"You've moved schedules around before," she says, giving me a persuasive look.

I study her face. "I'll think about it."

"Okay, fine. I guess we'll both mull it over," she concedes.

"Hey, you two!" Calvin calls from the top of the lawn. "Theo's done at the grill. Time to eat."

He picks his way down the grassy slope toward our pit, balancing two heavily loaded paper plates while Henry rides tall on his shoulders, steering his dad by the ears. Maren trails behind with a stack of napkins and a big bowl of sliced watermelon tucked against her hip.

Theo brings up the rear, carrying a platter of grilled bratwursts and a squeeze bottle of mustard, while Gus, his scruffy gray terrier mix, trots right at his heels with his nose locked onto the meat.

"Oh, thank merciful heavens," Mia says, watching the parade approach. "That grill has been teasing me with incredible smells for the last hour. And that's coming from a girl who already polished off a mountain of potato salad."

"Figured we'd spare you the hike and bring the food down here," Calvin says, handing a plate to me and another to Mia. He swings Henry down onto the grass, and the toddler immediately bolts toward the woodpile. Without even breaking eye contact, Calvin reaches out and snags him by the back of his shirt.

"Thanks, man, appreciate it," I say, settling back onto the driftwood log with my plate.

"I was starting to think we'd need to organize a search party," he says.

"Just getting the fire pit squared away," I tell him. "Thought I'd make myself useful."

"You always do." He gestures toward my food. "Maren stashed some potato salad for you before Mia could claim the rest of it."

"I heard that," Mia chimes in from beside me, already halfway through her first bratwurst.

I get started on my own bratwurst while Mia makes a serious dent in hers. Maren and Calvin are laughing with Theo about something that happened up at the house, Laila has already rolled over for a belly scratch from anybody who'll give her one, and the whole fire pit fills up around us.

"Theo, seriously, this is one of the best things I've eaten all year," Mia says, gesturing with her bratwurst. "What's the secret?"

"Grinding the pork yourself makes all the difference," Theo explains. "And going heavy on the marjoram, no matter what the recipe tells you."

"Don't get him started unless you want a whole lecture on sausage casings," Theo's wife, Emma, jokes as she strolls down the lawn with their daughters. She flashes him a warm smile, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she passes.

"Well, look at this lovely gathering!"

I look up to see Betty making her way down the grass in bright white sneakers and a red-white-and-blue visor, carefully balancing a plastic cup filled to the brim with pink punch.

Betty's in her late sixties, serves on the town council, and routinely stops by the station with trays of fresh baked goods. She's as sweet as they come, but a little alcohol makes her remarkably chatty, and given her cheerful sway, she's already well into her third cup.

“Come take a seat, Betty,” Maren says, shifting over to clear space on the driftwood log.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet.” Betty sinks onto the weathered wood with a small sigh, her eyes zeroing right in on me. “Mateo, darling, I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. I was afraid you’d already skipped town.”

“Not quite yet,” I say. “Monday morning. Then I’m heading back East to Boston for a search and rescue contract.”

“Look at you, always off rescuing folks,” Betty says, beaming. “Though what’s got a handsome boy like you hiding out down here away from the party?”

“He’s using fire safety as a cover story to dodge human interaction,” Mia chimes in, nudging my elbow while taking a bite of her bread roll.