“Our friendship,” I said quickly. “You’re my best friend. Always. And that’s not going to change because of an old memory.”
Zach was looking out to sea again, his arms folded in front of his chest. “And California? Do you miss it?”
“Some, sure. It’s a great place.”
“It’s nice,” he agreed. “But it’s not home. For either of us.”
“Where is home?”
“Miami.”
“You didn’t grow up there. Or even always live there,” I pointed out.
“Lots of people make their home somewhere other than where they were born, Mick. What makes it home for us is our work is there, our friends are there, we’re there, our lives, everything, where we live. I love my condo. You do, too. We both like it in Miami.” He paused and then stared at me with striking intensity. “You always did before.”
All of that was true. I did really like Miami. And it had become my home. But circumstances changed. This had been my home once before, too, and I’d loved it here.