Page 15

I let out a low laugh and nod. We roll up to a stoplight, and I take a moment to glance around the Main Street area of Heller.

It’s old and charming in the way of all small towns.

Most of the stores and little boutiques look closed already, but a few bars and ice-cream shops are still brightly lit from the inside.

Couples and young families walk hand in hand down the sidewalks, illuminated by glowing yellow streetlamps.

I look sidelong to Noah. His features are especially soft in this lighting—warm, inviting. Golden.

“Colorado’s a long way from Texas,” I say. “How did you and your roommate end up here?”

“Dan’s from Texas, actually. Even in college he always talked about moving back one day.

His parents are getting old, y’know, so I guess it seemed like the right time for him.

” Noah leans toward me conspiratorially even though we are the only two people in the car, his shoulder pressing up against mine.

“Maura hates it here. This is probably the last time I’ll ever see her. ”

“You think they’ll break up?”

“I’m certain of it. Dan’s not going anywhere anytime soon, not when he’s just launched Alchemist. It’s a bummer, and I’m sure it’s all they’ll be talking about tonight.” He turns his smile back on me, looking guiltily relieved. “You see why I’d rather hang with you instead?”

“It’s not just my winning personality and engrossing conversational skills?”

“Well, those, too.”

I wonder if I was the first person he texted when he decided to escape for the night—or just the first to respond.

It doesn’t matter, I decide. I’m here now.

Leaving the downtown area behind us, we set out on a long stretch of beautiful country roads.

The landscape starts to blend together, and I’m far more interested in sneaking peeks of Noah’s profile anyway, but it’s obvious when we approach the diner.

It’s right off the highway and shines like a beacon from half a mile away, a blip of brilliant fluorescent light against the otherwise unbroken line of the horizon.

The sign that hangs over the parking lot buzzes with a neon glow, and though the lights of the first Ma are out, Ma’s still gets the point across.

When we pull in to park, I’m amused by how much the diner looks like—well, exactly how you’d expect it to.

Through the large windows surrounding the building on all sides I see shiny red vinyl booths occupied by high schoolers sharing milkshakes with four red straws, truck drivers making late-night pit stops, and a few sleepy-looking families.

Hanging over the double doors of the entrance is a hand-painted retro-style curvy waitress with curly gray hair and a wide grin.

Mama’s, it reads in looping red-and-chrome lettering. Welcome Home!

The door squeaks loudly as I pull it open, and from behind me Noah reaches up to hold it ajar. Twangy country music drawls through the speakers, though two teens in the corner jam their fingers at the buttons on an old jukebox in a doomed effort to change the song.

A middle-aged waitress with wiry dyed-blond hair smiles at us as we walk in. “Evening, sweethearts. Table for two?”

“Yes, please,” Noah says.

She leads us to a booth next to a window, where Noah and I settle noisily across from each other on the cracked seats. The waitress—whose name tag reads Crystal —sets two spiral-bound menus and glasses of water on the table. “You two let me know when you’re ready, okay?”

I take my bendy straw from its wrapper and fiddle with the flexible bit before sticking it into my glass. Noah smooths out the laminated menu across the table like a treasure map, tracing down the path to paradise with his pointer finger.

“Marshmallow swirl pancakes? Chocolate chip and mint pancakes? Fruity pebble pancakes? ” He scrubs a hand down his beard before looking back to me, his eyes wild and bright. “Fuck me up, Sadie, I don’t know where to go from here. There’re too many options.”

“Let’s each pick one and we’ll share,” I say.

“Try a little bit of everything. I want the cinnamon roll pancakes.” As he scours the options, I eye the group of teenagers in the back sharing their milkshake.

One of the boys is holding the stem of a cherry just out of reach of a girl trying to catch it between her teeth. “Can we get a milkshake, too?” I ask.

“You bet we can.”

“What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Vanilla.”

I turn a deadpan stare on him. “Bit basic, isn’t it?”

“It’s a classic for a reason.”

“Didn’t peg you as a vanilla kind of dude, Noah.”

“Oh, Sadie, that’s unfair.” He reclines into the booth, draping his arms over the back. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I am anything but.” The way he says it with such casually assured confidence makes the sides of my neck flare with sudden warmth.

Two can play at coy.

“Is that why you wanted to play a bard in the game?”

“What do you mean?” He feigns innocence, but I don’t trust his crooked smile for a second. He knows exactly what I mean. He just wants me to say it out loud.

“Come on, Noah. This might be my first time playing, but bardic reputations extend far past the realms of D&D. Bards are persuasive, suave, charismatic, flirty—” I’m not quite ready to say horny, but it’s true.

Bards are undoubtedly the horniest class.

They’re musicians, but much of their magic relies on how well they can engage with their audience, entrance a crowd, or tug at someone’s emotions—so of course they are associated with lust, love, and everything in between.

“Lots of people play bards so that they can fuck their way across the kingdom and try to seduce the villain into letting the party run free. So, no. Bards aren’t vanilla. ”

Noah’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he opens his mouth to say something—then closes it as Crystal approaches again. “You ready now, dears?”

He looks toward me as if for permission. I gesture for him to continue, and he leaps into our order: cinnamon roll pancakes, strawberry shortcake pancakes, and a vanilla shake with chocolate syrup and two straws. It’s a fair middle ground.

After Crystal leaves, Noah leans forward and braces his forearms on the table, hands folded before him. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted an excuse to bring the ukulele to D&D?” The light from the lamp overhead catches on the shine of his one earring and the brightness of his grin.

“No.” I pause. “Though I was very impressed by how well you played it during the wedding scene,” I say dryly.

He barks out a laugh, immediately clocking my sarcasm. “I learned the Beatles chords for the first time the night before. I think Jules was clenching her fists underneath the table, it was so bad.”

“It was cute. Good effort.”

His grin softens into a smile. After a moment he rolls his left shoulder in a shrug.

“Truthfully, I just wanted an excuse to play a fun, boisterous character who would be outgoing and easy to start conversations with. I didn’t know any of you guys, y’know, coming into this.

I wanted to make a character who was approachable. ”

Admittedly, it’s a good strategy. “Not one to play the brooding, misunderstood sad boy?”

That earns me a flat stare from Noah. I’m not used to seeing his features so serious, and it catches me off guard. “There’s literally not a worse character personality type to play in D&D, and I’ll die on that hill.”

“So you have played D&D.”

“Not exactly. I’ve played other tabletop roleplaying games, like Pathfinder and World of Darkness. I also did a good bit of roleplaying on Legends of Lore, and in online forums and servers.” He spreads his hands wide. “So I’m familiar with the type. Plenty of sad boys all over the internet.”

“Point taken.” Internally I note not to share any of my high school Zuko fanart with him. I love a broody man in fiction, but I can admit that they don’t play well with others—which would make them difficult in a group setting like D&D.

Noah interrupts my thoughts. “Why did you play a cleric?”

My expression goes still, and I meet his gaze solemnly. “My faith means a lot to me.”

His lips part in surprise, but before he has a chance to say anything—aha, Miss Crystal, back again. Her Crayola-red lipstick outlines a friendly smile as she sets our plates before us, followed by the milkshake. “Enjoy. Let me know if I can get’cha anything else.”

Noah reaches for his silverware enthusiastically, but I stop him with an outstretched hand. “A moment,” I say, boldly taking his hands in each of mine. So warm, I think as my fingers fold around his. “To say grace.”

Noah hesitates for only a moment before he gamely closes his eyes and squeezes my hands.

“We give our thanks to the Lady of Luck,” I say, my tone thick with playful earnestness. “For your unluckiness in being pushed out of your home due to your roommate’s romantic endeavors, and for my luckiness in having an excellent excuse to share with you a feast fit for a king.”

Noah laughs, and the deep, rolling sound makes me a little giddy. “Do I say ‘Amen’?” he asks. “?‘Cheers’?”

“Cheers works.” I immediately feel the absence of his hands as he slips his palms from mine, but we hold each other’s gazes as we bend forward to sip from the milkshake at the same time.

The next few minutes are filled with blissful silence as we dive into the food, taking turns spearing fluffy bites of pancake from each plate.

The cinnamon roll turns out to be a most excellent choice, dripping in gooey icing and shot through with swirls of cinnamon sugar, but the strawberries in the other stack are sweet and tart, pairing perfectly with the peaks of whipped cream that decorate the top.