Archer followed Mateo down the hall and up the creaking stairs at the back. At the top was another hall. The first door was a bathroom, then Mateo led Archer to the last bedroom.

The room was small, being a single, but immaculate and … much cozier than Archer was expecting. A warm plaid blanket was thrown on top of the standard-issue beige comforter, and the dresser was lined with photos. Next to his bed sat a well-worn copy of Beowulf, stacked on top of a Tolkien biography, a bookmark halfway through. Archer was drawn to the photographs, and he wandered closer to examine them. The first showed a smiling family sitting at a picnic table—a mom, a dad, and a dark-haired boy. The second had to be Mateo in his late teens on stage in a ridiculously beautiful penché, leg extended far over his head. The third was Mateo standing on the sidewalk under the marquee for Robin’s Egg, pointing up at it and smiling, with an older version of the couple from the first photo.

Archer realized he was lost in the images when Mateo cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” Archer straightened, sheepish. “Those are lovely photos. Are those your parents?”

Mateo’s face softened. “Yes.”

“Where was the picture at the picnic table taken?”

“Here, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I came here with my parents once when I was eight. I think they already knew I was gay.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.” Archer studied the photograph again. “Your parents are beautiful.” Archer remembered reading that his mom was from Mexico, and his dad’s family had a Cuban background. They both had Mateo’s black hair, bronze skin, and solid frame, but he had his dad’s strong jaw and heavy brow. And his mom’s smile.

“They were.” Mateo examined the picture with him. “I really miss them.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are they…?”

“Yes.” The softness from Mateo’s face was gone. He gripped the edge of the dresser. “My dad had a heart attack and Mom had a stroke not long after. About six years ago.”

Archer did the math. “That was right around…”

“When Robin’s Egg debuted. Yup.” Mateo’s hands flexed on the wood, then he blew out a breath and yanked a drawer open. “You need clothes?”

“Oh, yes. I—Yes, please.”

Mateo dug through a few items, then offered Archer a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Here. These are a little on the small side for me.”

Archer wondered if a joke might lighten the mood. “Maybe we should measure width now?”

The corner of Mateo’s mouth twitched. “I’ll leave you to get changed.”

“Thanks. And, Mateo?”

Mateo paused, hand on the door. “Yes?”

“I’m really sorry about your parents.”

Their eyes met. “Thank you. You’d better hurry up. Caleb will be waiting.”