“Ready when you are.” Jack gestures to the door and walks outside. Patrick is standing on the sidewalk, grinning at us.

“ZC secured? Ready for the handoff to LL?” he asks, nodding in my direction.

“I told you I’m not using stupid code names,” Jack grumbles.

“You know the rules, Lancaster. I’m not moving until you say it.”

He groans. “Fuck all of you. WD securing handoff to LL.”

“I’m so confused,” I say and Patrick laughs, leading us away from a still grumbling Jack. “What the hell does WD mean?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Obviously.”

“Window Daddy.”

“I beg your pardon?” I sputter, almost tripping over my feet.

“A story for another time. He has to be good and drunk before spilling the beans. But it’s so good.”

I sip my drink, the sweetened beverage giving me life. Giving me courage. Enabling me to take another step forward, and another, and another, heading toward an unknown destination I’m anxious to discover.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The place Henry considers your first date.”

“Italian food? I’m hardly dressed for the occasion.”

“Nope. Good guess, though. Somewhere different.”

We stop at a crosswalk, Patrick checking both ways before allowing us to move forward.

“You’re a principal, right? How did you go down that road?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. I also like managing chaos and little rascals. Being in the classroom was fun, but being in charge of curriculums, testing scores, quality of life, affordable lunch, after school-activities, and hiring the best staff is even more entertaining.”

“How cool. I thought about being a teacher when I was younger. It’s not an easy job. Good for you.”

“Lola’s the one who encouraged me to pursue it. You don’t see a lot of male educators, and I’d like to change that. It would be nice to live in a world where gender roles and biases didn’t matter, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” I scoff. “How long have you and Lola been dating? I like her a lot. Spunky. Outgoing. Fun.”

The smile Patrick is wearing falters. “We’re not.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “Don’t apologize. It’s a common question. We’re friends. Just friends.”

Instead of drawing attention to the sadness behind his statement, I move on. “Right. Of course. So, if it’s not Italian food, where in the world are you taking me?”

“Here.”

We stop outside a building and my brow furrows when I read the neon lights in the window.

“The escape room? We went here before we were even together.”

“Henry has no shame in sharing things he’s done. While he’s never specific and doesn’t use names, I know enough intimate details of his life to write a scathing exposé if he ever became famous.”