Page 2 of Until We Come Home

“Relax, I just like teasing men and making them squirm. Keeps me young.” She pats my arm. “I love every single person in there, but it’s wall-to-wall couples. Which usually doesn’t bother me, I’m a big softie for romance. But tonight everyone’s drunk on Napa air and expensive cabernet and completely wrapped up in each other, and I needed a minute to breathe.”

“If you were trying to dodge happy couples, hanging out with a bunch of Midnights was a questionable choice,” I say.

“Okay, fair point.” She narrows her eyes at me. “A bit rude to say, though. Classic East Coast behavior. Calvin said you were based in Boston, and it definitely shows.”

For a second I worry I’ve offended her, until I catch the glint in her eye.

I huff out a laugh. “What’s the saying about us? We’re kind, but we’re not nice. Terrible at pleasantries, but I’d show up to pull your car out of a ditch at two in the morning.”

“Lucky for you, I’m from California, and we’re famously laid-back.” She bumps her shoulder into mine. “So I can look past the brisk East Coaster thing. In fact, I might even suspect you’re a nice person, if the way your family talks about you is any indication.”

“Don’t spread that around,” I say. “I’ve got a reputation.”

She laughs, and five minutes ago all I wanted was to finish my beer in peace and get my head straight. Now I want to keep her out here a little longer.

“So what’s got a self-described romantic hiding from all the romance in there?” I ask.

“My latest relationship ended three weeks ago,” she says, cheerfully enough. “A mutual breakup, technically. Which is almost worse, because you don’t even get the luxury of being angry. You just have to be mature about it. It’s exhausting.”

“Ah, damn. Sorry to hear that,” I say.

“Don’t be. It’s not our first off-again stint.” She waves a hand. “He’s a choreographer. Brilliant artist, extremely sensitive. We drift together, get overwhelmed, split up, and repeat. But I’m feeling a bit sad tonight, so the breakup’s getting to me more than it should. When I caught myself stress-eating bread rolls straight out of the basket, I figured I needed some fresh air.”

“How many rolls did you polish off?” I ask.

“Four.” She looks over at me sideways.

“And why the sad mood tonight?”

“What? The breakup, like I just said.” She cocks her head at me.

“You said you were feeling down tonight, so the breakup was hitting harder,” I point out, tipping my bottle toward her. “Sounds like something else put you in a funk first.”

“I don’t usually spill my deep dark secrets to a guy I met four hours ago,” she says, studying me. “But you are a stranger I’m never going to see again. I’m never going to see you again, right? You don’t live in California or anything?”

“Nope. I’m never in California,” I say. “I split my time between Boston and Washington. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Perfect. I’m a big fan of consequence-free honesty.” She settles her back against the stone wall. “The bad mood started with a phone call from my mother earlier. We’ve got a complicated dynamic, so whenever she calls to complain endlessly about my dad and his new wife, it ruins my whole evening.”

“Messy divorce?” I ask, taking another sip of beer.

“Oh, completely,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I grew up thinking they had the ultimate fairytale marriage, but the split was a total disaster—cheating, lies, the whole bitter mess. It definitely scrambled my perspective on relationships. But hey, approximately half the population has a sad parent divorce backstory, right?”

“My parents were never actually together, so I wouldn’t know,” I say, turning the bottle between my fingers.

“Ah, so you got a completely different brand of family drama,” she says with a sympathetic nod.

I let out a low laugh. “Guess you could say that. But didn’t you just claim to be a hopeless romantic?”

“I love love in general,” she clarifies. “Platonic, romantic, monogamous, non-monogamous, that last one’s more my jam, actually. But I’ll admit the whole grand forever idea still tugs at my heartstrings a bit, even if my mom’s venting and my fresh breakup have me feeling a little cynical tonight.”

“Well, that certainly explains the four bread rolls,” I say, smiling.

She laughs softly, and for a second we just stand there together in the shadows, the hum of party music and muffled laughter drifting out from the restaurant behind us.

“Alright,” she says, turning to face me. “Your turn. Why are you hiding out here?”

“Funnily enough, a pretty similar reason,” I admit. “Wall-to-wall couples.”