The Chief suddenly appears from the office corridor, with sunglasses perched on his head.
“Well,” he says, scanning the table, eyes landing on me. “We feeding civilians now?”
“She’s not a civilian, Chief,” Mason says around a mouthful of food. “She’s a survivor of the Prince tour.”
The Chief’s gaze settles back on me.
“You settling in okay?” he asks. He’s assessing, but it’s not unkind.
“Yes, Chief,” I answer with a smile.
His mouth hitches with amusement. “It’s Rhodes off shift.”
“Rhodes,” I correct, softer.
He nods once, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they dart from me, to Evan, and back. “Good.”
Then he moves on, clapping Evan once on the shoulder before circling back to critique Mason’s grill technique, which Mason loudly pretends not to care about.
I glance around the table and realize I’m not hovering at the edge of this group. I’m not waiting for the subtle shift that tells me I’ve overstayed, or bracing for veiled comments.
I’ve been pulled into the middle of it.
Sitting at a long table, with smoke in the air and kids running in circles and someone arguing about grill technique, with a plate in front of me that I didn’t have to ask for.
They’ve made room for me here, and that realization eases something in my chest almost as much as the attention of the man sitting next to me.
Colt reaches past me to steal something off Evan’s plate, and they start bickering over it like brothers. Frankie is holding Zela and talking to her in a high-pitched sweet voice, while Mason pretends not to watch. Luke’s half-smiling into his beer like he’s seen this exact scenario a hundred times before, and Remi wipes sauce off Max’s chin with a napkin when he darts past her. Elle barrels after him with her hair coming loose and her cheeks pink from laughing.
It’s only when the sugar crash hits with the kids start to fray at the edges that afternoon starts to shift. The guys are off having a quick word with Rhodes, and Remi is getting Zela settled into her car seat when Elle reappears at my side.
“Where’s Pengie?” she asks, looking down and scanning the table.
I glance over the plates and napkins. “Wasn’t he with you?”
“He was here.” Her little brow furrows, and then she ducks to check under the table. “Pengie?”
Max immediately joins in. “PENGIE.”
“Where did you have him last?” I ask gently.
“He was here,” she repeats, panic creeping in.
I scan the table again, then under the chairs. Nothing.
“I’ll find him,” I say quickly before her lip can wobble. “Stay with Remi and Frankie.”
“I’ll help!” Max declares.
“You’ll help by staying put,” Remi says firmly, catching him by the back of his shirt before he can bolt.
I weave between tables, checking under chairs and near the grill before making my way deeper into the apparatus bay. I’m halfway around Engine One when I spot him perched on the bumper step, slightly askew as though he got distracted mid-adventure.
Relief floods through me, and I step toward the truck, reaching up to grab him.
“There you are,” I murmur, stepping closer to reach for him.
My sneaker skids against the concrete before I can catch my balance, and a startled sound tears out of me as a hand clamps around my waist.
