“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Don’t think too hard. Tonight’s supposed to be fun.”
“Been a while since I’ve had any of that,” Patrick admitted.
“So you didn’t take the vacation time?” Marek asked.
“I’ll take it later. Probably around the holidays. I need to get settled here first.”
Sage finally looked away from her phone. “Any idea where you want to stay? I can recommend a good broker if you need one.”
Patrick couldn’t take over the lease of the apartment he’d been staying in, and truthfully he didn’t want to. If Patrick was going to call this city home for the foreseeable future, he damn well was going to stay somewhere he liked.
“We’re working on it.”
“We, is it?” Leon asked, raising an eyebrow at Jono. “You breaking your lease early?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” Jono retorted, measuring out a shot of vodka.
“Don’t break your lease,” Marek said as he moved closer to Sage again in order to wrap an arm around her waist. “You have another six months on it, right? I’m sure we can sublet it to someone in the community.”
“I’ll let you figure out the logistics for that.”
The conversation moved on from apartment hunting to figuring out everyone’s schedule for the monthly pack dinner at Marek and Sage’s place.
“You’re coming whether you like it or not,” Leon told him.
“I can’t cook,” Patrick protested. “I never really learned how.”
“Seriously?” Emma asked.
“I went to a boarding school for magic users and then joined the military. When do you think I would have had time to learn to cook?”
“The past three years you’ve been out?” Marek said with a teasing grin.
Patrick shook his head. “Anything other than A-rations is crap and my stomach is still recovering from mess food. I’m making up for lost meals by eating as much takeout as possible.”
“Forthree years?”
“I am determined to try every state’s version of comfort food at least once. If I can expense it to the agency, so much the better.”
Leon laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “Our tax dollars at work.”
“Damn straight.”
“Bring a couple bottles of alcohol. We’ll still let you through the door, no hospitality ceremony needed this time around,” Sage told him.
“What about Jono?”
“Oh, will you make your roast, Jono?” Emma asked, perking up.
“I’ll pick up a Crack Pie instead,” Jono called out from the far side of the bar. “But only one. You lot can sort out who gets some of it this time.”
Emma grinned. “That’s almost better than your roast.”
“Crack Pie?” Patrick asked.
“Only the most ridiculously sweet pie full of gooey butter and sugar you’ll ever have. You’ll like it,” Sage said.
