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He pauses dramatically, as if waiting for applause.

But Jaylie has never seen this man in her life; she would have remembered someone so striking.

She’s met many pretty elves in her time— all elves are pretty, with their ageless features and bright eyes—but he’s got to be the handsomest one she’s ever seen.

Loren looks like he belongs on a stage, not in some dank room in the basement of a tavern.

His clothing favors shades of green, brown, and gold in a combination of silks, delicate embroidery, and fine leather.

His polished boots come up to his knees, and his frilly shirt is unlaced practically to his navel, showing off an impressive collection of necklaces and overlapping pendants.

He has a ring on each finger and several gem studs pierced through his pointed ears.

But it’s his hair that draws Jaylie’s gaze—it looks as if it’s on fire.

At first she thinks it’s a rich auburn, but when he leans forward, the table’s lantern highlights threads of vivid copper and gold.

Half of his wavy hair is pulled into a loose knot, leaving the rest to tumble over his shoulders, deliberately styled to look effortlessly messy.

Jaylie strains not to roll her eyes at the pretense.

But before she can do that, her gaze narrows on the neck of a polished lute peeking over Loren’s shoulder.

Bard.

Of course.

“I’ve never heard of you,” Jaylie announces sunnily, flashing him a sweet smile. The others murmur agreement, their tones reflecting varying degrees of agitation and amusement.

Loren is unfazed. “Ah, then someday down the line, you can tell my fans that you were among the first to know me.” His gaze flicks down to the holy symbol strung on a thin chain around Jaylie’s neck: an amulet with the gold coin emblem of Lady Marlana proudly displayed. He winks. “Lucky you.”

Jaylie snorts, but her smile lingers on her lips. Arrogant asshole.

Handsome, though.

“Well, if you’re quite done…” drawls a smooth voice to Loren’s right.

The dwarven woman sports a small half smile as she toys with one of the rings braided into her long, dark beard.

Her hair is much shorter, braided close to her scalp and threaded with gold clasps.

An assortment of leathers hugs her dark skin, and Jaylie spots a couple of knives sheathed at her thighs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all, loves,” she quips.

“I’m Morgana. I’m looking forward to working together. ”

A beat of silence stretches out and hangs uncomfortably in the air, but once Jaylie realizes that the tiefling man to her left is in no rush to fill it, she speaks up.

“I’m Jaylie Amberlight. I’m a priestess of the Church of Marlana.

” Calling it a church is a bit of a stretch.

The Lady of Luck is hardly as uptight as some of the realm’s other deities, and her places of worship aren’t the traditional lofty and expensive cathedrals that other gods boast but cozy temples scattered across the land.

“Dorna typically hires me for my healing abilities. I’ll keep you alive—if my Lady wills it,” she teases.

“And what if I’m looking for luck in other areas of my life?” Loren, of course.

Jaylie arches a brow and fixes him with a stare. “You’ll admit you can’t get by on skill alone?”

He only grins. Morgana lets out a ringing laugh, and the tiefling flashes a fang in what might be a smile. Jaylie counts it as a win.

Dorna clears her throat and gestures to the tiefling. He’s the only one who has touched his ale, and he makes the group wait as he drains the mug dry. Then he tosses his head with a grunt, his long ink-dark ponytail swaying with the movement. His voice is a rumble in his chest. “Kain.”

A few seconds pass.

He says nothing more.

Jaylie jumps when Dorna claps her hands together, bringing everyone’s attention back to her.

“Well, then! I’ll give you all time to get to know each other, but before that, I know you’re waiting for me to cut to the chase.

” Jaylie feels the air shift slightly as everyone at the table takes in a breath at once, and Dorna smiles slowly, savoring the suspense.

“We’ve got our muscle, one of the realm’s most talented rogues, some entertainment, and our very own lucky charm.

I imagine you’re all wondering what in the Hells I have planned for such a diverse group of talent. ”

With a flourish, she withdraws an envelope from her pocket, its blue wax seal already broken.

As Dorna slides out the thick card and lays it flat on the table for everyone to see, Jaylie catches the delicate scent of lilies wafting from it.

Reading the looping cursive letters embossed on the parchment, she lets out a puzzled laugh.

It’s an invitation to a wedding. Tomorrow.

“And that’s a wrap on session one! What did we all think?” Liam asks.

I have to shake my head for a second to clear it.

I put so much effort into embodying Jaylie that it takes some time for my imagined tavern scene to fade, revealing Liam’s game room.

In place of what I pictured as the worn wood of the tavern table is a white fold-out piled with character sheets, multicolored dice, and empty cans of craft beer.

Liam stands just as Dorna had, with his hands braced on the tabletop and his bearded face stretched into an expectant grin.

“I loved it.” I’m surprised that Julie is the first to speak, considering that she barely strung together five words for the entire three-hour session.

“I want to play more, right now. I don’t want to wait another week for next Sunday.

” I immediately liked her when she arrived with a tray of brownies and a pitcher of sangria.

I had complimented her sweater—it had little cats all over it—and she’d proudly claimed that she knit it herself.

She is absolutely adorable, which makes it that much funnier that her character is Kain.

He’s all brooding purple muscle and devilish menace, while Julie is all sunshine, pastels, violet cat-eye glasses, and curly, pink-streaked brown hair.

Her voice is also delightfully high-pitched, so I’m impressed that she gives such a convincing performance of Kain’s gravelly masculine tone.

Even with her head bowed low over her notebook as she scribbles down the last of the session’s notes, Morgan looks amusingly like a taller, beardless version of Morgana—which I suspect is the point.

According to Liam, she decided to join the game last minute, so most of her character-building involved little more than tacking on an extra letter after her name.

Long braids frame her face, and her beauty is enhanced with sparkling, bold makeup.

She finally looks up at Liam with a smile.

“You know, I had my doubts about D he hates being shut out.

But if we let him in, Liam says he’ll knock all the dice off the table, turning critical hits into critical failures.

I set the plates down and soothe the cat with chin scritches.

“I met him at a bar,” Liam says, his mouth quirking up at the corner.

“…On a date?”

“Yes. Well—no, not on a date with Noah, but…yeah. I was there on a date a few months ago. Noah was bartending.”

“Bartending?” I swing to face him, grinning. “And you, what—you just invited him to play after meeting him for the first time?”

Liam spreads his hands wide and lets out a surprised laugh. “Look, I know it’s random, but he seemed cool. Honestly, I had a better conversation with him than I did with my date. And he’s new here, too, Sadie. He seemed eager to make friends.” He pauses. “…And he also likes Legends of Lore. ”

The fastest way to Liam’s heart.

“Well, as long as you’re sure he won’t axe-murder us after earning our trust,” I tease as I snatch up the keys to the Civic. “I’m going to go grab a few groceries for the week. Do you need anything?”

Liam hesitates. “I’ve still got leftover pasta and some frozen pizzas, if you want them.”

But he’s been more than generous enough—especially on his teacher’s salary—and I’ve got an unexpected urge to cook for myself.

I’d thought socializing with strangers for the first time in weeks would be draining, but I haven’t yet come down from the unexpected high of how much fun I had.

Besides, Sunday has always been grocery day for me, and a step back into a routine feels…

good. Maybe next week I’ll even get back into running.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine for this week, Liam. I appreciate it.”

He gives me a quick nod and a plea to pick up some toilet paper as I swing open the front door. The Texas summertime heat is like a slap in the face, and the sticky, oven-like humidity is almost enough to make me turn around. Instead, I persevere.