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As my head falls back into the crook of his shoulder, he presses languid, burning kisses against my neck and jaw.

Slowly, he slides his fingers underneath the fabric of my shorts while his free hand skims along my ribs and moves up to cup my breast. I arch into his hold, urging his hand farther down, and something heavy presses against my ass. I swallow thickly.

“Is this okay?” His teeth are grazing along my neck. His fingers hover just above my burning skin, stretching the fabric of my underwear.

“Keep going, Noah.” My voice is thin—snappy.

He chuckles into my shoulder. “Bossy.” I make an ungodly sound in the back of my throat as he teases me, tracing the sensitive line between my legs while his thumb moves in slow circles around the space above.

Gently he presses his lips to the skin right behind my ear.

His tongue traces a slow, aching circle against my neck—just as his middle finger begins to do the same to my clit.

At any moment I expect all of the water in the stream to start boiling.

Already I can feel tension winding through my body as it chases after the blessed ache that suffuses my limbs.

He’s sliding his finger into me when a twig snaps.

We both freeze.

Slowly, Noah’s hand withdraws from under my bra and comes up to wrap around my mouth. I inhale through my nose, and he draws us both beneath the surface.

Under the water, neither of us can help the way our laughter escapes upward in a rush of bubbles. Noah takes my face between his hands and presses a rough kiss to my cheek. He kicks backward and resurfaces a polite three feet away from me.

I peek my head above the surface, and as the breaking of twigs and the rustling of several pairs of feet come closer, a group of four college-age kids emerges from behind the trees.

The girl at the front, blue hair piled in a bun on top of her head, lifts her brows in surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Usually this spot’s empty, we don’t mean to inter—”

The water surges upward in a massive splash as one of the boys hurls himself into the stream. The other boy follows soon after him, whooping. The last girl, sporting a pink bikini, hefts a cooler and shakes her head in resignation, as if used to their antics.

“The more the merrier.” Noah grins. Always friendly, forever outgoing.

I wade up next to him and swallow hard. “We should probably—”

“Y-yeah.” Thank fuck he sounds as out of breath as I feel. “Could you, ah—could you grab me the towel?”

For once the heat is soothing as I emerge from the stream, and the shivering and the goosebumps that aren’t completely the fault of the icy water soon begin to fade.

I can’t help but feel a little smug as I toss Noah the towel, which he wraps around his waist immediately after climbing out of the water.

We head back to our spot and splay out on the blanket, Noah leaning against the base of a tree and me on my back, head resting on his thigh. It gives me the perfect vantage point to watch rivulets of water run from the ends of his hair down the planes of his chest.

“Just our luck, Sadie,” he sighs dramatically. His chest swells with the motion. “I’ve been out here half a dozen times now, and this is the first time I’ve ever had to share the space.”

I shrug helplessly. “Jay hasn’t taught me her secrets yet.

” His forearm stretches across my chest, and I trace along the tendons on the back of his hand.

His skin is starkly warm against my paleness.

Later I’ll pay for forgetting sunscreen.

“What would we have done if I hadn’t jumped? ” I almost hadn’t.

“Oh, I had lots of options.” He gestures toward the items spread out around his backpack. Strawberries, books, a card game, art supplies. My heart squeezes a little.

“A choose-your-own-adventure date?” I tease.

“Fitting, isn’t it?”

“What’s in the bottle?”

“I’m so glad you asked.”

I sit up on my elbows as he plucks the bottle from beside his backpack. He holds it out for me to sip from, but I narrow my eyes a little.

“It’s something I brewed up,” Noah explains.

“From Alchemist?”

He shakes his head. I wait for him to continue, but he just smiles.

I crane my neck to take a testing sip of the amber liquid.

Immediately I know it’s not beer. It’s definitely alcohol, but it’s far too sweet to be beer.

It’s got the same fruity undertones as cider, too, but it’s not so bubbly.

I take a deeper drink, let it pass over my tongue.

There’s a heavy smoothness to it—thick, almost. I’ve never tried anything like it.

It’s too unfamiliar to be enjoyable yet, but I’m compelled to keep drinking it.

“Is it cider?” I guess.

“It’s mead.”

My eyebrows form a confused knot on my forehead. “Like, old-timey medieval mead? Like D when I’m actually working on the mural and he’s not busy pressing me up against the wall in the back room, he’s hard at work monitoring the huge metal tanks full of brew. A true alchemist.

“No, actually. Mead’s the first thing I ever brewed, way before I even worked at Alchemist. It’s the easiest of all alcohol.

” Noah always sounds enthusiastic when discussing his interests, but this is one of the first times I’ve seen his eyes really passionately light up.

His tone is almost as reverent as when he’s talking about backpacking.

“All you really need is honey, yeast, water, whatever fruits or flavors you might like, and a few weeks’ patience.

I used oranges and raisins for this one.

It’s so low-maintenance, I can even keep a gallon brewing when I’m on the road.

” His voice softens a little, and he leans closer. “Do you like it?”

“I think so. It’s growing on me.” I take another small sip—got to be careful with the pacing on this one—and set the bottle upright next to me.

“Don’t feel like you have to finish it now,” he teases. “Take it home with you. Enjoy it.”

My cheeks warm. “Thanks, Noah.”

Despite the shrieks and laughter from the group playing in the stream below, we relax into an easy, comfortable silence.

Noah stares with half-lidded bliss into the canopy above, one hand plucking strawberries from the container while the other plays gently with my damp hair.

I’ve nestled back into my spot resting on his leg, Noah’s sketchbook propped in my lap.

The pages are empty and pristine, and the sticker from the store is still on the back. I’m flattered by his thoughtfulness.

Maybe an eternity later—I can’t tell how much time has passed in our bubble, but my hair has completely dried by now into its usual waves—I’m sketching a scene of water nymphs tempting a traveler into their pond when Noah speaks up again.

“I want that on my ceiling.” His thumb taps the side of the sketchbook.

“What’s your next project after the mural’s finished?

Should only be a week or two left, right?

” The expression on his face is soft and daydreamy.

“Morgan should hire you to paint bluebonnets at her store. Or maybe I’ll hire you to paint my van.

” He twirls one of my curls around his pointer finger. “What do you want to try next?”

I’m surprised by how quickly unease cramps my stomach, how my heart sinks further with each new suggestion. “I think the mural is a onetime thing for now.”

“Oh? I thought you were really enjoying it.”

“I am. Of course I am.” I think back to how I crooned off-tune into my paintbrush as we blasted music from the speakers yesterday morning. I swallow. “I just—I don’t know how much time I’ll have for another project. It depends on how everything with Paragon goes.”

“Oh,” he says again. “How was the first interview?”

“It went really well.”

“Are you excited?”

I poke my tongue into the side of my cheek. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I don’t answer. He acknowledges it by mussing my hair again, but he doesn’t press.

“Well, I think Dan would hire you again, if he could,” he says.

“For what?” I laugh. “There aren’t any walls left.”

“He’s considering opening up another location.”

“Here?”

My eyes are on my sketchbook, but I recognize the smile in his voice. “In Colorado,” Noah says. “Our old college buddies in Boulder are getting jealous. They think he could do the same thing back there. At least, they want to be a part of it if he decides to go that route.”

I hum thoughtfully as I take a sip of mead again. “Is Dan thinking about moving?”

“He’s not sure. Maura would love it if he did. Either that, or he asked if I would be interested in leading the charge.”

The mead is suddenly too sweet, and the flavor clings to the back of my throat. I put too much pressure on my pencil, and the next line I draw is bold and dark. “Are you?” I hope my tone sounds calmer than I feel.

Noah tilts his head from side to side. “I don’t know. So far as a rule I haven’t lived in the same place twice, and I spent years in Colorado—but I’ve got a lot of friends out there. We’ll see. He’s given me a few weeks to think it over.”

He says it so simply, like it’s the smallest thing in the world.

Just a few weeks? Does he make all of his decisions that quickly?

I wonder if he can tell that my brain is bluescreening, so I distract myself with sliding the pencil into the spiral binding of the sketchbook and folding my hands on my lap.

I glance toward the sun through the leaves; already it’s far past its peak, arcing back down toward the earth.

“I felt like all of the days dragged, when I first got here,” I say quietly. “I hardly knew what to do with myself. But now—” I’m impressed by how level I keep my voice despite the tightness in my throat. “Time is passing really fast, isn’t it?”

Already his hands are moving. He’s lifting me up, wrapping me in his arms from behind. It’s like I’m filled with bees—the anxious, awful energy buzzes underneath my skin. But he’s still. Quiet. I love how enveloped I feel in his arms, pressed against his broad chest.

“It is,” he murmurs, his chin nuzzling against my hair. “But it’s nothing to worry about now, Sadie. We take it one day at a time.”

Part of me takes comfort in his calm approach—and part of me resents how he seems to take everything in stride.

I question whether seeing him get all worked up over what I see as a massive decision would help justify how torn I am.

How seriously is he considering driving off to his next adventure?

And would the answer make me feel better or worse?

Maybe I want him to ask me to stay—and maybe I want to ask him to stay, too.

But instead he just holds me and whispers into my hair, “It’ll all work out.”

It makes me want to jump out of my skin.

In time, I match my breathing to his. I close my eyes for ten heartbeats. I still have weeks left of D&D to play, and weeks left of the mural to paint. And despite Addison’s enthusiasm and pep, she hasn’t yet reached out to schedule my next interview.

I remind myself that I’m cradled in the arms of a gorgeous, shirtless man who wants nothing more in this moment than to feed me strawberries and pet my hair and take me on pretty walks. I can save the worrying for later.

“Okay,” I say, touching his cheek and drawing him down for a kiss. “Okay.”