Summary: After a storm strands Mateo at Naomi's house, the two muddle through their first real conversation in months, and finally begin to warm up to one another. Naomi struggles with hospitality. Mateo struggles with his secrets.

Naomi's feet skidded along the pier as she raced toward her house, the wind tangling her skirt between her legs and whipping her sodden ponytail into her face. She was no stranger to bad weather, but the coastal storms of Avalor were something to behold. What started as a mild drizzle hours ago had transformed into a deluge, churning the ocean up into a gray froth and blurring the distant horizon into a seamless wash of dark clouds and darker seas.

Her heel slid out from under her on the rain-slick stone of the main pier as she finally reached her home, and she crashed shoulder-first into the door. Nearly blinded by rainwater, she fumbled for the handle, and with a distant flash of lightning spurring her on, she managed to swing the door open and toss herself inside. Regaining her footing, she threw her entire body weight against the door to push it closed against the force of the howling wind. The sound of the storm cut off with a click. It wasn't silent—wood creaked around her, and the rain battered the roof in a staccato rhythm and dripped down through leaks in the ceiling—but the distant rumble of thunder sounded less threatening through the thick walls. Naomi sighed and sank to the ground, her back to the door. She was out of immediate peril.

So long as the house holds, she thought as a wave sprayed against the opposite window. A kernel of worry made its way into her stomach as the house groaned again and another bout of water spattered down from the ceiling. The building had been there for years already before her family had moved in, and had probably seen worse storms than this. It would totally be fine through this one, right? Her dad would definitely make it back to the house as well, as soon as he was done securing the harbor's ships and warehouses, and her mom was somewhere out at sea, far beyond the edges of the tempest. No problem.

Shoving her concerns to the back of her mind, Naomi dragged herself to her feet and stepped further into the living room, shaking water off of her arms and taking stock of the house. The main room was a mess, with mounds of unwashed clothes and loose charts scattered between barrels and crates of who-knew-what, and dirty dishes from that morning were still stacked on the dining room table. Naomi sighed, cringing as she drew a lungful of the smell of damp wood. Every whirlwind move always left the house in disarray, but she thought they would've gotten better at keeping things clean in between them. Instead, they always seemed too busy—there was schoolwork, or dock work, or anything else that kept the Turners away from home and oblivious to how bad the chaos had gotten until they returned in the evening, too exhausted to do anything about it.

But the storm had sent her home early, leaving the rest of the afternoon blank. Blank, and full of waiting. Thunder rolled again, and she glanced back at the door, vainly hoping to see her dad swinging it open behind her. She could probably clean up a little while she was waiting for him—anything to keep her mind from idling on his absence. He would be back before she knew it.

From there, it was a matter of keeping busy. Dry off first—check, even though her long hair fought her at every turn. She really needed to get it cut. She changed into her new lobster pajamas—might as well be comfortable if she was going to be trapped at home—and cobbled together some chairs and twine into a makeshift clothesline by the newly lit fireplace. After getting a kettle on the stove and a pair of mugs and a package of tea bags on the crate they'd been using as an end table in the living room, she rounded up every spare bucket and bowl she could find to set out under the leaks. She'd just barely gotten the charts from one floor pile rolled up and set aside when the kettle began to whistle, and she eagerly abandoned the tedious task to prepare herself a cup of tea, bringing the kettle with her and setting it by the fire.

Satisfied, Naomi tossed herself into the nearest armchair and took a long drink from her mug. There. Everything shipshape for when her dad got back. Mostly. A flash of lightning arced across the sky, visible through the large window in the dining room, and the clap of thunder that followed reminded her of exactly why her dad wasn't back yet. The seed of worry she'd set aside earlier bloomed again, and she took another drink to try and smother the feeling, turning her attention back to the fire. He was fine. Everything was fine.

A sudden knock at the door jarred her out of her thoughts, and Naomi turned in her chair, watching the entryway with bated breath. Why would her dad bother knocking? Maybe she'd misheard. But no, the sound came again, and Naomi shook her head, grinning and setting her mug down. Maybe he just had his hands full. She ran to the door and tugged it open.

"Hey—" And then she blinked up at the empty space where she'd expected to see her dad's head. Dropping her gaze closer to eye-level, she found herself staring instead at a pair of hazel eyes, half hidden behind a mop of sodden, brown curls.

"Hi," Mateo greeted, half waving with one arm, tucked close to his body.

Naomi just gaped at her classmate, bewildered.

Mateo squirmed under her stare. "Uh, I can leave if—"

He cut off with a startled yelp as she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him across the threshold, and for the second time that day, she threw her body against the door to slam it closed against the storm. The two were left in the relative quiet of the house, the muffled sounds of the raging storm outside punctuated by the constant dripping from the ceiling, Naomi's drying clothes, and now, from Mateo, who stood shivering just beside the door.

"What are you doing here?" Naomi asked, looking him over. He was completely drenched—his clothes were soaked through, plastering his collar and sleeves to his skin, and his mud-caked boots squelched as he shifted his feet. He was holding his equally soaked backpack tightly against his chest, and didn't seem to have any kind of umbrella, not that that would have done much good against the fierce winds of the storm.

"I got stranded," he explained, and glanced across the room, eyes flickering between the piles of junk Naomi had tried to reorganize. "I live up by the Moon Cliff, and the road up to my house is basically impassable right now."

Naomi sucked in a breath. She knew Mateo lived outside the city, but the Moon Cliff was a hike to get to, even on a clear day.

"And believe me, I tried," Mateo went on, waggling a dripping foot in her direction, "but I kept slipping in the mud, and the storm was just getting worse, and, well," he paused to push a soaked curl higher on his forehead and offered Naomi a sheepish smile, "I didn't really know where else to go, and I remembered you saying you lived here so I figured maybe, uh…"

Great. Just great. Her weird, awkward classmate had apparently decided they were close enough that he could invite himself into her house in the middle of a storm, and she was just standing here in the middle of a mess, wearing her dorkiest pajamas.

"Sorry," Mateo said when Naomi didn't reply, and repeated, "I really, really didn't know where else to go. Any neighbors that I'd go to live up that way, too, and I don't really have other, um," his wayward curl slipped back down into his eyes and he shifted his bag in his arms, tightening his grip around one of the straps. "Classmates," he concluded, "that I know that well."

Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, okay, I get it. You didn't have options, so you're here now." She sighed and looked down at the water pooling around his feet. "And if you're going to be here, then I don't need you leaving puddles all over the place. Stay put," she ordered, jabbing a finger toward him, "and I'll go get you some towels or something."

Mateo straightened up and nodded stiffly, and Naomi felt his eyes on her as she turned and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time as if the awkwardness was some physical menace she could escape.

Reaching the linen closet, she yanked it open, staring down the towel shelf for the second time that afternoon. Snatching the largest one she could see, she went back toward the stairs and leaned over the railing of the landing, only to see Mateo adjusting the nicknacks on one of the disorganized bookshelves.

"Hey, nosey!" Naomi snapped, and Mateo leapt to attention again, stammering out a protest.

"I wasn't—I bumped it on accident—I was just—" He cut off with a flinch as Naomi flung the towel down at him. It caught him across the face, and then fell down to drape over his backpack, where he watched it like he expected it to leap up at his head again.

"You dry off," Naomi said, "I'll be right back."

She heard Mateo call a faint 'okay' up at her as she ducked back into the second floor hall. Okay, she had to pull it together. It wasn't fair to Mateo for her to be taking her embarrassment out on him—he was the one that had to muster up the courage to go to her for help. This was probably infinitely weirder from his perspective, especially if he could tell she was annoyed, and she was the one in a position to make things less weird.

So… what could she do to make things less weird?

Well, what had she done when she'd gotten back? Dried off—check, she'd supplied a towel. Changed clothes—ugh, that could get weird, too, but it was probably a necessary step. The towel and the fire might not be enough to dry his clothes out completely, and he'd both make the downstairs mess worse and risk getting sick if he sat around in damp clothes all evening. Cleaned up and made tea—okay, she wasn't about to turn this into a cleaning party, but she could offer some of the tea. It wasn't like she was going to drink a whole kettle's worth herself, and at this rate, it would be dinnertime when her dad finally got home, anyway.

Oh, right, her dad. What was he going to think of their surprise houseguest?

Whatever, it didn't matter. Mateo was there, and she wasn't about to be the jerk that sent him back out into the storm, so he was stuck there until the weather cleared. Her dad would just have to deal with it, just like she did. Though, if she was being perfectly honest, her dad would probably be completely okay with this, and wouldn't have to stand in the hallway for a minute to figure out what to do.

But okay, she had a plan, or at least half of one. Get Mateo some dry clothes, offer him a warm drink. Easy enough. She finally entered her parents' room, spirit sinking at how the downstairs mess had crept in there, as well. They really needed to work out a system for keeping things tidy while her mom was away. Shaking her head, she sifted through the dresser drawers for things her dad didn't wear much anymore, or things that were too small on him. She tossed a couple articles onto the bed, and as an afterthought, added a belt to the pile before heading back out to address her guest.

Mateo had returned to his spot by the door and had finally set his backpack by his feet, where he stared down at it as he rubbed the towel across his head. The towel was already looking pretty damp, even though Naomi had only been gone for a few minutes, but Mateo wasn't looking much drier. Yeah, it was probably a good thing she'd decided to get him a change of clothes.

"Okay, I got some of my dad's stuff out for you to wear for now," she said, heading back down the stairs and pointing toward the bedrooms. "In the hall, there, in the door on the left."

"Oh," Mateo replied, following her finger. "Are you sure that's okay?"

Naomi bit back an annoyed huff. "Sure it is. I'm saying it is. Now," she pointed more emphatically, "go get changed before you catch cold. And don't touch anything else in there!"

With hunched shoulders and a stilted gait, like he'd been caught doing something wrong, Mateo grabbed his backpack again and went up the stairs, disappearing into the hallway.

So that was taken care of. Naomi allowed herself to let out the frustrated sound she'd suppressed earlier and looked over at the clotheslines she'd set up around the fire, where her own day clothes were still looking pretty soggy. She'd have to set up more chairs. She busied herself with that while she waited and hung up the abandoned towel, trying not to stew in her irritation and discomfort.

A door creaking open upstairs caught Naomi's attention, and she looked over from her handiwork as Mateo reemerged on the landing in the new clothes, with his wet clothes bundled under one arm and his boots and backpack dangling from the other hand. She'd figured her dad's clothes would be a bit big, but as Mateo started down the steps, watching his feet carefully, she realized she'd drastically underestimated how much. They were almost comically oversized, the shirt billowing around him like a loose sail as he moved and the belt tightened all the way to the last hole. Both his sleeves and pant legs had been rolled up multiple times—though Mateo was no longer shorter than Naomi (which was completely unfair), he still wasn't exactly tall, especially in comparison to her dad. He looked as out of place in those clothes as he did in her living room.

"Where should I…?" he asked, holding up the dripping wad of fabric.

"Just hang it up here," Naomi said, stepping out of the way of the clothes-chairs. "Hopefully it'll all be dry by the time the storm lets up."

As if on cue, lightning flashed again in the distance, crackling over the sea and bringing a low rumble of thunder behind it. The wind shifted, and Naomi watched the rain fall sideways, vaguely aware of Mateo sorting out his clothes in her periphery.

He stepped up next to her when he was done, staring out the window with a quiet awed noise. "It's pretty bad, huh?" he remarked.

"Mm." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "So what were you doing out in it, anyway?"

Mateo grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's kinda hard to explain."

Snorting, Naomi shook her head and whacked the back of her hand against his arm as she finally turned away from the window and retrieved her now frigid mug of tea. "It's not like we don't have time," she said, grabbing the kettle and pouring a splash of hot water into her cup to heat it back up. "Grab some tea and settle in, because I feel like, as your host, I have a right to know what caused—" she waved the mug toward him and then took a sip, considering her next words.

"All this," she finally settled with. "Unless," she went on, smirking, "this is another one of those 'secretly reading fairytales' things we can't talk about."

"No," Mateo hastily answered, frowning. "I was just running some errands."

"In a storm."

"In a—well, it wasn't a storm when I left my house!" Mateo crossed his arms, pouting. "It was only raining a little bit, and I thought I could get back before the weather got worse."

"Sure, sure," Naomi said. "Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna have some tea? There's a mug right there and I'd like to stop holding this kettle."

"Oh, uh," Mateo looked over at the empty mug. "It was sitting out already, so I didn't realize that was for me."

Well, it hadn't been, but Mateo probably didn't need to be reminded of how abrupt his intrusion had been. "I'm psychic, I knew I'd need it," Naomi said instead, only to immediately regret it as teasing conversations of recreos past flashed through her mind. "I'm joking," she quickly added. "Sorry, I forgot you don't do jokes."

He bristled. "I do jokes."

"You do puns."

"Those are jokes!" He turned away with a petulant sniff, an irritated crease in his brow. "Just because you don't appreciate them," he muttered.

"Please," Naomi forced through a clenched smile and brandished the kettle once again, "just take some tea."

He just stared at her for a moment, arms crossed, but the irritation on his face faded back into discomfort and he quietly accepted the kettle. He dropped a tea bag and poured some water into the empty mug and then placed the kettle back by the fire, and then he just stood there, holding the steaming mug and watching Naomi like he was expecting her to give him more directions.

"You waiting for an invitation to sit or something?" she asked, flopping down onto the sofa.

"No," he replied, and finally took a seat in the adjacent armchair, where he stared into his mug with a pensive expression. "Thanks," he added, eyes flickering over the rim to look at her. "For letting me stay."

Naomi nodded, and then they both fell silent, with Mateo squinting into his cup like it wouldn't steep if he took his eyes off it and Naomi trying to find entertainment in the way the shadows from the fire curled and stretched on the wall.

Mateo shifted in the seat. "So," he started after a moment, "what type of tea is this?"

"Mulberry," Naomi answered. "It's a big deal in Norberg, especially the part of the country my parents are from." She took a long sip, savoring the taste. "The juice is better, but the fresh stuff doesn't last as long, so we try to keep some of the tea around."

"Huh. Cool." Nodding, Mateo took a sip himself, and then lowered the mug, setting it carefully back on the end table.

Naomi tried not to vocalize her discomfort, the skin of her face feeling too tight from her strained expression. Absolutely riveting conversation.

Rain continued to drum steadily on the roof, and a bucket Naomi had set out in the dining room pinged as water dripped into it. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed, and one of the logs in the fire popped loudly, sending a burst of sparks against the back of the fireplace. Thunder rolled softly beneath it all, like a distant tremor, but even with all the constant sound, the silence between them felt like it was flooding the room.

Naomi tapped her fingers against the side of her mug and looked over at Mateo. His shoulders were hunched, and one of his legs was bouncing, causing the floorboard beneath it to squeak in time. He was staring at the fire like it was a homework problem he was trying to solve, and only lifted his head after she'd been watching him for what she knew was way too long.

"Yes?" he asked, his leg bouncing faster.

"What kind of errands?" Naomi asked.

Mateo startled, sitting up straighter and blinking at her. "What?"

"What kind of errands?" she repeated. "You said it was hard to explain, and now I'm kinda curious."

"Oh." He chuckled nervously and reached for his mug again. "I was just getting some, uh, supplies I needed. Nothing that important." He forced another laugh and raised the mug, hiding his face behind a large gulp of tea.

Naomi glanced over at the makeshift clotheslines, covered in soaked clothes. "You sure about that? They must have been pretty important supplies if they couldn't just wait for the weather."

His next laugh was a lot less forced, bordering on genuine. "That was actually just poor planning on my part," he admitted. "I was working on, um," he bit his lip, "a project? A personal one. And I didn't realize until the last minute that I was all out of something I needed for it, and I thought, 'well, if I go out now, I won't be stuck at home later with nothing to do if the weather gets worse.' Except, well…" He grinned at her, shrugging. "I ended up stuck here, instead."

"Let that be a lesson to you, I guess," Naomi said, returning the grin. "Don't assume you can outrun a thunderstorm."

"Heh, yeah. Sorry about this, again." He stared back down into his mug with a softer expression. "And really, thank you for letting me stay here."

"No problem," she replied, and now that she was thinking about it, it really wasn't. She'd been caught off guard by his appearance, sure, but it wasn't like a spare set of clothes that no one wore anymore or a hot drink was really all that inconvenient. "I'm not about to kick someone out into that mess. And honestly," she went on, more softly, "I kinda appreciate the company. Helps keep my mind off, you know," she nodded toward the window, "that mess."

Mateo hummed in agreement, and the two of them fell into another lull. Naomi shifted her mug in her hands, letting the warmth of the tea seep into them.

This silence was broken by Mateo awkwardly clearing his throat. "I, uh, like your pajamas?"

Naomi cringed. Count on Mateo to make things weird again. She'd almost allowed herself to get comfortable, forgetting the full context of the situation and letting herself pretend she was just hanging out with a friend, and she almost wanted to snark at him for reminding her otherwise. Her attitude deflated, though, at the sight of his face; he didn't exactly look like he was trying to make her uncomfortable, and the unsure, almost hopeful edge to his voice made it seem far more like he was just blindly throwing darts to see if he hit something in the vicinity of appropriate small talk.

"Thanks," she finally said, looking down at the cartoon lobsters smiling brightly back at her, and an idea bubbled up into her head of how to redirect the conversation without shutting him down completely. "You know, my dad makes a mean lobster bake," she said. She curled her legs up under her and leaned further into the sofa, smiling. "Another Norberg thing, I think. I know I've seen some lobster dishes here but the sort of stuff my dad makes requires sturdier ones than what you can catch locally."

Mateo was still just watching her, like he was expecting her to continue, and Naomi took a sip of tea to fill the gap. She'd really expected him to jump in with some commentary by now. Dinner shouldn't have been a taboo subject. "Anyway, the cold water ones are a bit of a pricey import, but if you have a chance to try it, I'd definitely recommend it. It's really good."

"I'll take your word on that," Mateo said. "I can't stand shellfish."

"Oh." Naomi felt her ears heat up, and rapidly buried the embarrassment under indignation. "You could've said earlier that you don't like them, then."

Confusion flickered across Mateo's face. "No, I mean, physically, I can't. They make me actually ill," he clarified. "I break out in hives and throw up a bunch and it's," he made an uncomfortable sound, "unpleasant for everyone involved. Especially for me."

The rest of Naomi's face heated up, as well. "Oh." He still could've mentioned it sooner.

Mateo's leg was bouncing again, and his voice cracked as he hesitantly tried to continue. "That's cool, though, that your dad knows how to cook with them. My, uh, my mom used to make a really good paella de marisco up until we figured out," he gestured vaguely to himself, "you know."

"I've had that," Naomi remarked, nodding. "Probably one of my favorite things I've had here."

"Have you had a lot of Avaloran food?" Mateo looked confused again. "You haven't really been here that long."

"I—Mateo, I've been living here for almost a year, now," she said, barely containing an incredulous laugh.

He quickly ducked his head, looking abashed. "Right, I knew that."

"But," Naomi went on, "if you have any recommendations, I'll take them."

"Oh, uh," he peeked back up at her, and then tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well… I really like sopa de fideo."

"That's noodle soup, right?" Naomi asked, her brain flipping through a year's worth of sporadic, language knowledge.

"Uh-huh." He pulled his legs up into the armchair, crossing them under him, and settled back, looking genuinely relaxed for the first time since he'd arrived. "It's one of those recipes most people have their own variation on, so it's easy to find a good version. Of course," he said, his mouth twitching into a smug smile, "my mom's is the best."

Naomi snorted. "I don't doubt it," she said, taking another drink. She was nearing the bottom of her mug. When she lowered it, Mateo's face had taken on a more somber look, and he was leaning on one of the arms of the chair, his chin in his palm, looking at nothing in particular.

"She's probably worried sick," he said, and his eyes flickered back over to her. A gust of wind howled past, bringing another rush of rain against the windows and sending an ominous creak through the woodwork.

"I know," Naomi said, and really, she did. Her dad was taking an awfully long time getting back home. "But, there's nothing you can do about it right now. You're stuck here until the storm clears."

Mateo wasn't looking especially reassured, and Naomi felt her own morale flagging as well. It seemed like the weather had only gotten worse since she'd gotten home, and it was getting harder to stay optimistic.

That didn't mean she couldn't try, though. "Well, maybe she figures you found someplace to stay for the time being." She fished out another tea bag and stood, wiggling her toes to get some feeling back in them, and went to retrieve the kettle. "Did you guys talk about what to do if the weather got worse while you were away?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Naomi paused, holding the kettle and her mostly empty mug. What part had he not understood? "Before you left for your errands, did you talk to her about a backup plan?"

He immediately averted his eyes, sinking back further like he was hoping he'd disappear into the chair. "I, uh, might not have told her I was leaving?" he admitted around a sheepish chuckle.

Naomi almost poured hot water over her hand instead of into her cup. "You snuck out?" she blurted, louder than she'd meant to, and Mateo flinched.

"No!" he protested, then, "Well, I guess a little?"

"You snuck out," Naomi repeated with a surprised laugh. "I can hardly believe it. I thought you were, I dunno, well-behaved or something!"

"I—I am!"

"I mean, you asked if it was okay to use a mug, for crying out loud!" She shook her head and finally refilled her drink properly.

"I thought I could get back in time," Mateo said, audibly strained. He looked mortified, his eyebrows drawn and lips pressed together in visible discomfort. "She would've never let me leave in the rain if I'd told her I was heading out, especially since I didn't have a reason I could—I mean—a reason she'd think was very compelling." He frowned. "And the weather really wasn't that bad at the time, and it shouldn't have taken very long, but Doña Paloma was trying to upsell me—you know, again—and I—"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to get defensive," Naomi said. "Honestly, I'm just kinda surprised." She grinned broadly, swatting at his arm as she returned to her spot. "Who knew you were such a rebel?"

"I'm not!" he insisted, his voice climbing in pitch.

"Secretly reading illegal fairytales, sneaking out of your house to go on mystery errands," she went on as she lowered herself back into her seat. "What's next," she smirked over the rim of her mug, "you gonna overthrow the queen or something?"

"Shhh, no! Stop it!" Mateo's voice cracked with a desperate urgency, and he was suddenly standing, looking somewhere between frantic and furious.

Naomi faltered, regretting she'd pressed the issue. "Mateo, I'm just jok—"

"You can't even joke about that kind of stuff!" he snapped, his hands curling into tight fists. "Do you have any idea the kind of trouble I could get in if someone heard you?"

An uncomfortable silence yawned in the wake of his outburst, filled by thunder and wind and creaking wood, and Mateo deflated, turning to rub at his arm and looking embarrassed, like he'd realized all at once how loud he'd gotten.

"I… I guess not," Naomi admitted quietly, something settling heavily in her stomach. "I'm sorry."

Mateo looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, me too," he said. "I'm sorry for yelling. I mean," he forced a nervous laugh, almost straightening back up, "it's not like anyone actually could hear us right now," he paused, voice teetering on an anxious edge again, "right?"

"Right," she confirmed around her own awkward chuckle. "It's just us in here, and even if someone wanted to listen in, they'd have a hard time hearing us over the storm. Honestly, if there was ever a time to talk about this kind of stuff, it'd be now. But, I get it," she said, holding up her hands at the way Mateo froze, "rebellion jokes are off-limits."

He was standing stock-still, watching her carefully. "Right," he echoed after a moment. He looked away again, a thoughtful expression on his face, and he pulled a hand up to tap against his chin, mumbling under his breath, "now would be the time to…"

Naomi felt a strained smile returning to her face. "Ooookay," she said, "on that note, do you wanna just play a card game or something? Might fill the void better than sitting around arguing about, I dunno," she shrugged, "lobsters and crimes. Lobster crimes."

Mateo snorted, quickly covering his mouth to stifle a giggle, his air of seriousness gone in an instant and his voice taking on a familiar, humorous tone. "I bet they rob people because—ah…" He averted his gaze, and his smile wavered.

And oh, well, didn't she feel like a jerk? Naomi sighed. "Go ahead."

Something sparked behind his eyes. "They rob people because they're shellfish," he whispered, looking at Naomi expectantly. "Get it? Like selfish?"

She let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a dry laugh. "Yeah, okay, you're hilarious," she said, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at how his face brightened further at the comment. "C'mon, you move the tea stuff over to the table and I'll…" she paused, overlooking the vaguely sorted piles scattered across the floor, "I'll figure out where the cards got to."

It took nearly ten minutes of searching to find the cards, and another four to free a baffled Mateo from the tangle of fishing wire he'd gotten stuck in after Naomi had admitted needing an extra set of hands. They settled in at the table, and by the time they'd picked a game and had gotten through Mateo's rambling explanation of how to play conquian, the clock had chimed again. Even as she tried to focus on the game, Naomi felt distracted by the unease roiling in her stomach.

Her dad was fine. Everything was fine.

"Are you okay?" Mateo asked.

Sighing, Naomi set her cards down, tilting back in her chair. "Yeah, I'm just—I'm getting really worried."

Mateo frowned. "Maybe he's just doing what I did," he said. "He could've decided the weather was too bad to risk the trip back and gone somewhere closer."

"I hope it's something like that," she replied.

"Maybe—no, that wouldn't work," he said to himself, and only continued when he caught Naomi staring at him, an eyebrow quirked upward. "I was going to say we could look for him if there's a moment of calm, but—"

"But that's basically how you ended up here," Naomi finished, smirking, earning a nervous laugh from Mateo. "Believe me, I'd like to do something about this, but our best bet is to stay here where it's safe. Ish."

As if the universe wanted to prove her wrong, something suddenly slammed against the window behind Mateo with a resounding crack. He leaped up with a yell, knocking over his chair, and Naomi flailed in her seat to keep from toppling over herself. They both stared at the window: Mateo, frozen in place with wide eyes; Naomi, one hand grasping the table to keep her tilted chair up and the other clutching her shirt over her chest to soothe her racing heart.

"You have got to be kidding me," Naomi groaned, and she let her chair legs slam back down against the ground, scooting it back with a scrape. Spreading across the window was a spiderweb of cracks, centered around a chipped dent in the glass where it had been struck. Thankfully, the cracks aside, the window was still intact, though who knew if it would stay that way through the rest of the storm.

"What just happened?" Mateo asked, hesitantly stepping toward the glass.

"Some driftwood or something must have been thrown into it by the waves," she explained as she circled around to it. "Just another thing to deal with, I guess."

"Can you fix it?"

Naomi turned to Mateo, incredulous, and took in his look of genuine concern. "You're serious," she remarked, and continued before he could interject. "I don't think this is really fixable without replacing the whole pane." She sighed, rubbing at her temples. "Best case scenario, it holds long enough that we can patch it when the rain lets up, while we're waiting on repairs."

Mateo worried at his lip. "And the worst case?"

"It breaks tonight and we have a storm blowing in through the dining room," Naomi said with a shrug.

Another wave crashed against the wall, sending a spray of water through the cracks, and Mateo leaped backward with a squeak.

"It's just water," Naomi laughed, flicking another few droplets in his direction. "You should see how it gets on a ship during a storm. Honestly, the worst part of this is getting broken glass everywhere."

She stood Mateo's chair back up and made her way into the main room, pulling some stray fabric out of one of the piles and examining it.

"Come on, help me look for a tarp or something we can put over it for now, so we at least don't have the wind blowing in here," she said as she pushed a stray ship's wheel out of the way. What was that even doing there? It clattered against the ground as it toppled over, and Naomi hoisted up a coil of rope that had been under it. With a huff, she looked back toward the dining room and frowned as she saw Mateo still standing by the window, watching the rain outside.

"Hey!" she called, "You in there? I could use some help!"

"What is she even doing," he said, to no one in particular, and Naomi made an exhausted noise.

But fine, she'd bite, if it meant she could get him to focus. "She?" Naomi prompted, letting a bundle of fishing lures dangle from her hands.

"Shuriki." He scowled and crossed his arms. "She's supposed to be this powerful sorceress, right? You'd think changing the weather would be easy for her. And you'd think," he went on, turning on his heel to stalk back and forth in front of the window, "that if she cared at all about her responsibilities as a ruler, she'd, I don't know, want to put a stop to something that could cause her citizens so much harm?"

"She's not a very good ruler, I feel like that's common knowledge," Naomi cut in.

"She's the worst!"

Naomi jumped at the venom in his voice. "Mateo—"

But he was on a roll, careening ahead before she could stop him. "The whole reason she's exempt from the magic ban is because she has to 'protect us,' right? But she's never done a thing for Avalor's benefit! She's just a liar! She took away everyone else's magic but she's only using hers to help herself!"

"Mateo! I get that you're upset, but there's nothing we can do about that. Help me figure out what to do about the window, because that's something we can fix."

"I know but," his face scrunched up and his voice climbed in volume, "what's the point of even having magic if you're not doing anything with it?"

Rain hissed in the ensuing silence. "Okay," Naomi said after a beat. "You good, now?"

Mateo took a deep breath through his nose and turned to her, resolute. "I have to get home."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "You can't go anywhere right now, sorry. Come help me find a tarp."

"You don't understand—" Mateo tried, but Naomi cut him off.

"Yes, I do," she snapped. "I get that you're worried about your mom. I am trying not to freak out about my dad. But the weather's only getting worse, and wandering around in the storm isn't going to make that any easier!"

"But there might be something I can do to—"

"Like what? Catch pneumonia? Drown?" The stress of the evening was starting to take its toll, and the afternoon's annoyance, the worry for her dad, and the aggravation about the window all fused together in her stomach, white-hot and acidic, and she stomped her foot, gesturing broadly around her. "What could you possibly do about all this?" she shouted, and brought her hands to rest on her hips, staring Mateo down and mentally daring him to reply.

How he chose to respond caught her, not for the first time that night, completely off guard.

"Can you keep a secret?"

She drew in a breath to chastise him again, but stopped at how deathly serious he looked. Lightning crackled somewhere nearby, the flash casting an eerie shadow across his face, and a chill raced down Naomi's spine as she was suddenly hit with the thought that she was about to get involved in something very, very dangerous.

But that was ridiculous. Mateo wasn't dangerous. A little unusual, but not a threat.

…Right?

"Yeah," she breathed, bracing herself for whatever was coming next.

Nodding, Mateo swallowed hard and drew in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm actually—"

A deafening bang of thunder suddenly tore through the house, tremendous enough that it shook the walls and rattled everything on the shelves, and the two of them screamed, reeling toward each other like the sound had physically manifested around them.

As the sound faded out, Naomi forced a laugh through the ringing in her ears. Just thunder. Nothing to be so spooked about. Mateo had doubled over, visibly shaking, with one hand bunched up in his shirt. He looked up to meet her eyes with a flustered smile, returning her laugh, and soon, they were both giggling at the absurdity of it.

"Thunder," Naomi laughed. "What are we, toddlers?" She tugged on his arm to pull him upright and gave him a playful punch for good measure, still snickering.

"Hopefully there aren't any more surprises like that tonight," Mateo replied, sounding breathless.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, though, than the front door flew open with a crash, slamming against the inside wall and shaking the house again. A gust of icy wind howled in around the hulking, shadowy figure filling the doorframe, and they both screamed again, grabbing for each other in panic.

"Naomi?" the shadow called in a familiar voice, and Naomi felt her terror disappear in an instant.

"Dad!" she cried, and she sprinted for the door, half shoving Mateo away from her in the process. She tossed herself up around her dad's shoulders, unbothered by his soaked shirt, and she choked back a relieved sob as his arms circled her back to give her a proper squeeze.

"Sorry I took so long," he said, carefully setting her back on the ground. He turned and grabbed the door, pushing it closed and cutting off the shrieking wind and hissing rain outside. "Another ship came into port for refuge right as we were all about to head home." Reaching up to wring out his ponytail, he skimmed his eyes in a quick survey of the house, pausing at the sight of something over Naomi's head.

"Who's this?" he asked, and all at once, Naomi remembered the presence of the Turners' surprise visitor. Turning around, she saw Mateo, standing at attention and scratching the back of his leg with his other foot, a forced smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, with an awkward wave that mirrored his arrival, though he looked considerably less like he'd just taken a swim.

"Right," Naomi started. "Uh, this is Mateo. He's one of my—" one of her what? Friends? Did he count at this point? "—classmates," she settled with, moving on as quickly as possible. "He got stranded by the storm, and I said he could wait it out here."

Her dad, though still looking bemused, nodded. "Of course, Naomi's told me about you," he said, and Naomi wondered if he noticed the horror that flashed across Mateo's face. Whether he did or not, he crossed the room and held out a hand, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mateo."

"Uh, you too, Señor Turner," Mateo replied, hesitantly accepting the handshake.

"Captain Turner," he corrected gently. His hand nearly swallowed Mateo's whole.

"Right, sorry! Captain. Captain Turner. I knew that," Mateo stammered out, and Naomi's dad responded with a hearty chuckle.

"Nothing to apologize for," he said, releasing Mateo's hand and turning back to his daughter. "I best head up and dry off. I'll be right back down."

As he headed up the stairs, Mateo shuffled closer to Naomi, clearing his throat. "So, when he says you've told him about me…"

Naomi glanced over at him, confused, and watched as he mimed opening and closing a book. "Oh! The—" she lowered her voice, "the fairytale thing?"

Mateo nodded, wringing his hands.

"Nah," Naomi said with a quick shake of her head. "Relax, I haven't mentioned that. Just—" her mortification at how she'd hit him in the face the day they met, how awful she'd felt for not sticking up for him when he'd needed it, how uncomfortable their months of tenuous not-friendship had been ever since, "—other stuff. Nothing bad."

That seemed good enough for Mateo, even with the omission. A moment later, Naomi's dad returned downstairs, in dry clothes with a towel draped across his shoulders.

"Seems like we should start thinking about dinner," he announced. "I think there's some clams from yesterday in the icebox yet that need to be used soon. Would that be alright with you two?"

Mateo fidgeted. "Oh, um. I wouldn't want you to go out of your way…"

Naomi rolled her eyes with a frustrated noise. "Dad, Mateo can't eat shellfish," she explained, since apparently Mateo wasn't going to, and she could barely make out her classmate's betrayed expression in her periphery.

Her dad's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! Why didn't you say so?" he asked, turning back to Mateo with a warm smile. "We can have something else, then."

"But I—"

"Ooh! We could do something with the rest of the chicken!" Naomi suggested. "That always makes a lot."

"Great idea," her dad said with a hearty chuckle. "Mateo, is there anything else you can't eat?"

"No, but—ow!" he cut off as Naomi jabbed her elbow into his side and shot him a look.

"You might be stuck here for a while yet," she said, lowering her voice so her dad wouldn't hear over the clatter of kitchenware, "and I don't want to deal with you getting cranky because you haven't eaten."

The flat expression on Mateo's face would have been funny if he wasn't being so aggravating. "You sound like my mom," he muttered, and then sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. "But okay. And, uh, thanks," he gave her a small smile, "again."

Naomi shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"Is there anything I should do to help?" he offered, right as her dad finally seemed to take notice of the cracked glass.

"Naomi, what happened to the window?" he asked, and she heaved a sigh.

"I'll tell you over dinner," she said, "and you," she added, tapping Mateo's arm, "can help me find a tarp."

Ah, the tried and true, "if you need to get two people to talk to each other, just lock them in a room together" technique. I'm a fan, personally. Fun fact: this chapter was originally twice as long and continued on after the dinner, so I split it into this fic's one and only two-parter. So, I'll be back next week with the rest of the storm saga!