Page 11

Chapter

Seven

We spend the rest of the evening like that, talking through Liam’s struggles with his class clowns, trying to convince him to bring another date to Alchemist so Noah and I can play wingmen, and Noah asking Liam about different D I want to be good enough at the game to do justice to my character and heal my party when they need it, but I have no interest in “winning.” I suspect Noah, with a character as charmingly chaotic as Loren, isn’t motivated by that, either, but with his and Liam’s backgrounds in Legends of Lore, it’s clear that game mechanics are a shared love for them both.

“Fuck.”

My attention snaps from the flames of the electric fireplace back to Liam.

He downs the rest of his beer and fishes out a few bills from his wallet.

It’s enough for both of our drinks, and I flash him a grateful smile.

“I forgot I had quizzes to grade,” he says apologetically before glancing at his empty glass; he huffs a laugh.

“Maybe I’ll be more lenient with them tonight.

But hey, it’s been fun. I’ll see you both for the game on Sunday, and let’s do this again soon.

” He pins me to my stool with his eyes. “Don’t get up to too much trouble without me. ”

“Okay, Dad. ”

Noah swoops in for the bro hug, reaching to clasp Liam’s hand before bringing him in for the shoulder thump, but Liam dodges it awkwardly and goes in for a side hug instead.

Even I still get the same treatment, though with a little more warmth.

He’s not the touchy-feely sort, even after fifteen years of friendship.

For a moment Liam gives me a look, double-checking whether I mind being left alone—something we’ve done for each other since going to our first bar in college. After a reassuring nod from me, he grins and gives us a quick wave before ducking out of the brewery.

When I turn back to Noah, he’s got me fixed in an unblinking, thoughtful stare. His brows are drawn together in a puzzled line, and his mouth is ticked up to one side in amusement. He circles around the bar until he’s standing next to me, hip pressed against the polished wood.

I freeze, feeling somehow caught. “What?”

He drums his fingers once, twice atop the wood before his hand wraps around my empty glass. His voice is low and teasing. “A jock? Really?”

I laugh suddenly, remembering my earlier comment.

“Noah, you look like you could casually pull a tree out of the ground.” I try not to look at his shoulders. I’m always looking at his shoulders. “You look like you lift…heavy things.” Well said, Sadie.

He’s fully grinning now. “If anyone’s the jock in our group, Sadie, it’s you.”

I scoff. “Hardly.”

“How many marathons have you run?”

“How do you know I run?”

Noah holds my gaze for another moment before his stare drops.

Those lake-blue eyes, somehow darker now, slide slowly down my body in an assessing way that doesn’t feel entirely clinical.

The path of his eyes traces a line of heat down the side of my leg, and his gaze catches on where my jeans are ripped and lingers there.

You can hardly tell the shape of my legs in these pants— and it’s certainly no way to judge who does or doesn’t run, I think dimly—but Noah looks for all the world like he’s trying to picture them bare anyway.

“Lucky guess,” he says dryly. “How many?”

“None,” I say honestly, though I have to clear my throat before I do. In truth, this was the second year I’d entered and lost the drawing for the NYC marathon. Begrudgingly, I admit, “Just a few halves.”

He doesn’t bother to brag; the twinkle in his eyes and his softly exhaled “ Uh-huh ” do it for him.

Noah strides back behind the bar with my glass in hand, and I look to where his bartending partner is cashing out the last group down the bar. I begin to gather my own things, ignoring the goosebumps on my forearms. After a moment, we’re alone.

“Listen, Sadie, I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

I swing to face him again. He stands grinning with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back onto the heels of his Docs. His smile is like sunshine.

My bones buzz with anticipation.

Do you have any plans this weekend?

Would you still like to explore Heller with me?

“Would you be interested in painting the wall?” he asks.

“…What?”

Smiling sheepishly, Noah gestures at the dark green wall on the other side of the brewery.

I blink twice. I’m caught in a swirl of confusion before the unmistakable stomach drop of disappointment and embarrassment anchors me.

Had I really thought he was about to ask me out?

A date? I scoff internally. Very silly, Sadie.

And even if he had wanted to explore—which had been his suggestion in the first place—it was presumptuous to assume that he meant it in any context other than friendly.

God, he was probably asking everyone else the same thing.

Maybe he’d already checked out the gaming store with Liam, or has plans for Morgan to show him the bookstore…

I’ve let the awkward silence hang for so long that some of Noah’s smile has dimmed, his hand dropping back to his side. Forcing some humor into my tone, I tease, “You don’t like the green?” Anyone can paint a wall. Why is he asking me?

“We want a mural, ” he clarifies. “My boss, Dan, has some directional ideas, but not much. There would be a lot of artistic freedom. I’m not sure if it’s the sort of project you do, but after looking through your sketchbook, well…

I thought I’d ask if it’s something you’d consider. ” His smile is endearingly crooked.

I’m intrigued, but hesitant. “When does he want it done by?”

Noah rolls his shoulder in a shrug. “He’s not in a rush. It’s more important we find the right fit, y’know?”

“Mm.” I look back to the wall. Shapes and colors dance before my eyes, forming the wisps of different ideas for how to fill such an expansive space.

It’s been so long since I’ve worked on anything other than my digital drawing tablet.

Though I have some traditional experience with the few art classes I allowed myself in college, I haven’t done a mural since high school, when a friend and I were hired to paint a couple of exam rooms at the local children’s hospital.

I open my mouth to say as much, but on second thought, I close it.

I don’t want to disqualify myself so quickly.

I’ve grown used to shrinking back and saying no these past few weeks, so I’m surprised to feel the tug of want to do this project.

“Thanks for thinking of me, Noah. I didn’t realize Kylo Ren’s cleavage left such an impression on you.”

His smile is indulging, but his eyes are serious.

“It’s true, ’twas the dark side sad boy who drew my eye.

But I saw some of your other sketches—the lighthouse, the cliff face, the campfire…

and they just seemed so perfect, Sadie.” He dips his chin to meet my eyes. “You’ve really got something special.”

“Oh.” Suddenly I’m wringing my hands to keep them busy, and some of my earlier disappointment fades. His compliment leaves me feeling flattered and soft. “Thank you, Noah. I’ll consider it,” I say, already nervous—but excited, too. “What would you need from me? My portfolio?”

“That would be a great start.”

“I’ll text it to you.” This is a professional, friendly endeavor, I remind myself. No need to feel so eager to get his number.

But we’re both smiling as he keys it into my phone, and his fingers brush the inside of my palm when he hands it back. “Perfect,” he says. “Thanks, Sadie. I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon,” I agree. There aren’t many things that can distract me from his carefree smile, but as I look to the wall again, I’m flooded with ideas. A small part of myself screams that I’m not a professional, that I’ve never taken on a project of this size, that I’m not at all cut out for it.

But my longing to put a lasting mark on this place—or anywhere, for that matter—is enough to keep the inspiration flowing. For now.

I spend the better part of Saturday afternoon updating my portfolio website, and I’m embarrassed to realize that it’s been more than three years since I posted anything new.

I first built the site back in high school when I still daydreamed about pursuing art in any sort of serious capacity.

I’d since squashed out that desire—most of it, anyway—and before today I’d updated the site only whenever I was feeling nostalgic.

I didn’t need my website for commissions, since most of them came through fandom sites or my anon social media accounts.

But since those are full of NSFW doodles and dumb memes, and I’m not yet willing to share the hellscapes of those feeds with Noah (and especially not his boss), I resign myself to sprucing up my site instead.

I’d finally taken Liam’s advice to get out of the house and visit Busy Bean, and I’d been relieved to find the tiny, plant-filled coffee shop to be quiet and calmer than its name suggested.

As I settle in with my second cup of the day, I add recent pieces to my portfolio that give a good impression of my style, skill, and range.

I decide against adding in Spicy Cap and Green Gandalf, opting instead for other works, like a moody tree study I’d done of the park I like to run in near Liam’s house, a grim portrait of a warrior from a fantasy book series, and a scene of a witch standing before her inviting, vine-wrapped forest home.

After a moment of hesitation, I add in the sketch of Jaylie as well.

My stomach twists as I scroll through the new additions.

Save for Jaylie, they’re all digital pieces.

Nervous that I don’t have any recent examples of traditional art, I page through some of my older pictures on the site, back to the coral reef–themed mural on the pediatrician’s walls, a forest landscape I’d been assigned back in college, and the painting of Garzoth from Liam’s game room, backlit by flames and smoke.

Well. These are all I’ve got, so they’ll have to be enough.

I put the finishing touches on my website and publish it, then pull my phone from my pocket and drum out a text. Noah hasn’t texted since we exchanged numbers earlier this week, but in all fairness, he left the ball in my court.

Hey! Here’s my site, SadieSketches.com. Would love to be in the running for the mural

Noah’s response is almost immediate, which makes my chest feel light and bubbly in a way I refuse to think too hard about.

where’s Gandalf the green?

I snort a laugh.

kidding

these are great, Sadie! the witch cabin one is my favorite. I’ll send these all through to Dan and let you know what he says

thanks! Hope he likes them :)

For the thousandth time, I paint ideas for the mural in my head.

I could do a portrait of a mad alchemist, but despite the name, it doesn’t feel like the right fit for the brewery’s vibe.

Maybe a rendition of the cliff at Bear Hill, the town’s most popular hike and every kid’s favorite spot to smoke weed after dark, according to Liam.

Or perhaps a fantasy scene of green and purple vines climbing the walls, the silhouette of a stag perched in the distance…

I imagine what it would feel like to sweep my arm in a wide arc, dragging a swath of color across the brick wall.

Would they have me paint while the brewery’s open, or after hours?

Would it be Noah staying with me until the sky grew dark?

Maybe while I worked, he’d let me taste the new beers before they were added to the draft list. Maybe he’d hold the ladder while I painted the highest corner of the mural, or reach up to steady me with his broad hand warm against my lower back. Maybe he’d—

The jingle of Busy Bean’s front door opening startles me out of my daydream, and I blink several times—hard. It’s a dangerously alluring train of thought that I’m tempted to let run off the rails—and a complete, utter waste of my time.

I glance at my phone again. No new texts from Noah after our exchanges about my website.

Perfectly professional. Perfectly friendly.

Without the rose-colored lens of two drinks on an empty stomach, I force myself to take a cold, sober look at the way I felt that night at Alchemist. Sure, I can admit to Noah being objectively cute and ruggedly handsome, but I’m kidding myself if I think a distraction like him is something I should be indulging in this summer, as much as I’d like to.

I have a thousand and one other things to worry about—like preparing to return to the city and getting my shit together—and I’m fairly certain my interest is one-sided anyway.

Noah is always smooth assurance in the face of my flustered nerves, and he’s just as friendly with the other players as he is with me.

And even if he were being sweet to me specifically, well—who can really trust a bard’s charm, anyway?

Better to just focus on the mural. Better to focus on what’s really within my grasp, as I’ve gotten carried away before with things I couldn’t handle. Too recently.

I sip at my lukewarm coffee; some of its sweetness has faded.

It takes a while to calm my thoughts about Noah, but once I start to daydream about the mural again, I’m surprised and almost uneasy about how optimistic I feel.

This project feels big, somehow—like something I hadn’t known I’d been waiting for.

For one, a job of this size would sustain me financially for the rest of the summer, combined with the steady commissions and my savings.

On top of that, this opportunity just feels wonderfully indulgent.

It’s exactly the sort of thing Liam had sold me on when he’d convinced me to take the summer off: a chance to rest, recharge, spend time with him, and unearth old hobbies and joys that had slipped through my fingers when I told myself I no longer had time for them.

And if I allow myself to be honest, to listen to the quiet voice I thought I’d snuffed out months ago—I think I could do a damn good job with this. I really think I could do it justice.

Determination surges through me at the thought, and I tell myself it’s just the coffee at work.

Either way, I’m getting ahead of myself—I have no idea how long Dan will take to consider. To distract from premature brainstorming, I pull out my tablet and open the scan of my original sketch of Jaylie again.

Feeling more certain of my own direction, I begin to ink in her outline.