“Better extend that persuasion to Mom,” I warned. “But sure. I can pick you up if Mom says it’s okay. Where is she, anyway?”

“Dropped me off so she could do a conference call in the car.” April made a face. “And had a million warnings about keeping my mask on.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“But you’d like to do your own remembering. I get it,” Milo added, an unexpected bit of compassion from him. While I figured he was referring to his own mom, I also hoped he didn’t think that I was a nag, trying to get him to change more than he wanted to. I wanted him to find his own way. But not pushing was hard.

“How’d that group-house interview go?” I asked him in a whisper as we all made our way to the lounge.

Milo groaned. “Postponed. One of the housemates is sick.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” His posture deflated, and I wanted again to hug him, but I refrained.

“Looking splendid today, everyone!” Natalie greeted us. “And Prince Neptune, your fame precedes you. The family that you did the drawing for last week showed it around, and I’ve had a number of inquiries as to if you’d be with the group today.”

“I’m here.” Milo blushed deeply even as he hurried to get a sketchbook out. “If I skip playing, I can probably do more than one sketch.”

“We’ll give you a reprieve,” I joked as I waved him over to a table. Even once I was set up for a game with a kid who was new this week, my attention kept wandering to Milo, watching him draw a thin boy with a heavy cast as a mighty Viking warrior complete with shield and horned helmet. Pride made my shoulders lift and my chest expand. He was incredible. And, at least in that moment, he was mine.

“Tell me it’s pizza night,” Milo joked as we packed up. We were the last two of our group left because Milo had kept drawing past our usual ending time. His final tally of sketches was four—the little Viking, a flying superhero, a hulking strongman, and a special request for a mermaid.

“You have definitely earned your pizza,” I replied as we headed for the hall, letting my tone turn low and flirty. “And I owe you—”

“Dude. Lionetti. What the hell are you wearing?” Two of my worst nightmares greeted us before we could reach the elevators. Luther and James, in gray janitorial outfits with matching scowls, were pushing big utility carts that stood between us and an easy escape. High school had taught me to always be aware of the exits where the two of them were concerned, and even Milo’s presence wasn’t enough to stop the chill racing up my spine.

“Forget what he’s wearing. What are you doing with this Willy Wonka reject?” Luther gawked at me.