Page 4

Chapter

Three

Speak of the devil.

Or, well, the elf.

Noah sits on the curb next to Liam’s Prius, scrolling lazily through his phone.

It’s been at least twenty minutes since everyone else left, and his flannel lies discarded in the grass.

Seeing him in just a tank top, I can tell he’s no stranger to the sun, with his tanned, freckled (and wonderfully broad) shoulders.

I bet he’s regretting wearing flannel and jeans, too.

Maybe he’s waiting on his ride—or maybe he waited for everyone to leave so he could axe-murder Liam and me, just as I suspected.

He turns and sees me hovering behind him before I can make up my mind about his motives.

“Sadie!”

We’ve known each other for only a few hours, but Noah greets me with the enthusiasm of a big fluffy dog who can’t help but treat every stranger he meets as a potential new friend.

He unfolds from the curb like a pop-up book, rising to his feet until he looms over me.

Privately, I’m thankful for the shade provided by his silhouette.

His smile is bright, and his eyes are the same hue as the cloudless sky above him.

It’s hard not to smile back, so I do. “Noah. Your ride bail on you?”

“Not quite. I usually bike, but she’s in the shop today, so—I Ubered.”

I wince.

“Exactly,” he confirms with a sigh. “Heller’s so tiny, there aren’t any available drivers at all. The one I matched with is still…” He checks his phone again as he runs one hand over his thick hair. The sunlight catches on a little silver hoop pierced through his left ear. “Eighteen minutes away.”

“Bummer. Good luck with that, yeah?” I turn on my heel and head toward the Civic.

Kidding.

I set my axe-murderer concerns aside and take pity. “Do you want a ride?”

Noah’s eyes go soft at the suggestion. “Would you?”

“I would.” He bends to grab his backpack and flannel off the grass and follows me to the car. “Where to?” I ask.

“I’ve actually got work in an hour, and not much time left to change, so straight to Alchemist Brewing, I suppose.”

“Where’s Alchemist?”

“Sadie, you haven’t been yet?” He feigns a wounded tone.

I like how often he uses my name—how often he uses everyone’s names. There’s an immediate familiarity to it. As I fish the keys from my bag, I say, “Just haven’t had the excuse to yet, I guess.” Or the expendable income. Or the will to leave the house.

But today’s a new day.

As soon as I get the car started, I blast the AC—the interior is hot enough to bake cookies in—and key the brewery’s address into my maps app.

The inside of the car seems to shrink when Noah sinks into the passenger seat, his long legs bending awkwardly around the discarded cups and tote bag I’d left on the floorboard.

Good-naturedly, he helps me transfer most of it into the back seat along with his backpack, though he pauses with my sketchbook in hand.

I press my lips together. I forgot I’d brought it with me on one of my Liam-mandated side quests to return his books to the library. I’d paused in the shade of their small backyard garden, doodling mindlessly as I sat on an old worn bench.

“You draw?” Noah asks.

I keep my eyes on the road as I pull out of the driveway. “A little.”

It’s something of an understatement.

“Like what? Moody still lifes? Graphic design sketches?” He pauses. “It’s all naked anime men, isn’t it?”

That earns a half grin. “How did you know?”

“I know your type.” There’s a smile in his voice, and when I glance at him, the playful glint in his eyes suggests I am also the type. “Can I see?”

Despite the many years I’ve spent creating art, it never gets easier to share it with anyone.

Of course, it’s easy to post to social media, where I can share pseudonymously with a crowd of fans, friends, and mutuals.

And in Liam’s house, no one knows any of the pieces he has are mine because I hate signing art; a little scribbled “S” at the bottom feels like it’s subtracting from the piece.

With Noah sitting close enough that I can easily gauge his reaction as soon as he opens the cover—close enough that I’m getting distracted by whatever woody cologne he must be wearing—well.

It could be awkward, if he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t strike me as a good liar.

But I can’t help feeling like I want to impress him, so I take the risk.

“Sure.”

As he opens the worn sketchbook, I glance over at the pages, though I already know all the drawings within.

It’s my moodiest sketchbook, with a sticker on the cover spelling out vibes in bubbly letters.

In this one, I draw whatever makes me happiest. I have others, of course, for figure studies, concept work, and more—but there’s a reason why this was the only one I’d brought with me to Texas.

The Vibes book is just for me. It’s both the worst place Noah could start, if he wants an idea of what I’m truly capable of, and the best place, if he wants to get to know me.

For one, he’s not totally wrong about the naked anime men.

I’ve doodled plenty of my favorite cartoon and video game protagonists, drawn in a series of different poses or in compromising positions with other characters.

But alongside sketches of Kylo Ren with his pants pulled up to his nipples are charcoal drawings of my mom, tiny watercolor wildflowers, and one painstakingly rendered floor plan of what my dream apartment in New York might look like.

“These are really good, Sadie.”

I make a noncommittal noise as I keep my eyes on the flat road before me, though I sit a little straighter, pleased.

“No, really. This is modern art at its finest.”

The road’s clear, so I risk a sidelong look.

Noah holds up a page with a series of portraits of the beloved wizard Gandalf: Gandalf the Blue (sad Gandalf with a drooping hat), Gandalf the Black (Goth Gandalf with thick black eyeliner), Gandalf the Pink (Barbie Gandalf with a bow in his beard), and Gandalf the Green (stoner wizard, obviously, complete with swirling pipe smoke).

“You’re too kind.”

“You could do it professionally, if you wanted to. Honest.”

“Oh yeah? You think the Tolkien estate would be interested in my work?” I turn an earnest, hopeful gaze toward Noah as the car rolls up to a stop sign.

I like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “ I would. I’d pay you for this.”

I chew at the inside of my cheek, biting back a smile. I’m flattered, even though his comment doesn’t take root in my mind. I know better than to give too much hope to ideas like that. “Turn the page.”

I’m rewarded with a sharp inhale of surprise as Noah takes in my latest sketch.

A woman lounges lazily on her side across the span of the page, her chin cupped in one beringed hand, a glass of wine balanced in the other.

Wild honey-blond curls escape from a pink-and-turquoise headscarf, spilling over the revealing folds of a cream-and-gold-colored robe.

Her telltale golden amulet nestles between her breasts.

I’d used lots of different colors and quick, free-form lines to sketch out her curves, lazy perch, and coy half smile.

It’s not the sort of practiced and perfected drawing that I could sell, as Noah suggested, but I like the way I’d captured her for the first time.

She’s a jumble of scribbled lines, full of possibility and potential, waiting until I’m certain enough of her character to outline her in bold, sure strokes.

“Jaylie,” he says, recognizing her immediately. “She’s lovely.”

My cheeks warm as if he had complimented me instead.

“Thank you,” I hum happily. Another stop sign. There’s a field to my right and two houses to my left, and I’m struck by how far I can see toward the horizon. I’m still getting used to how wide the landscape feels—how flat. I peek at Noah again.

As his finger hovers over Jaylie, his lips part. It’s like he’s got something to say, but then he shakes his head and it’s gone. After a beat of silence, he continues, “So you don’t do this professionally, then, as shocking as that is to me. What do you do, Sadie?”

“I’m in marketing.” I’ve said it so many times, my answer is automatic. But then the pain of realization hits, a sharp reminder that—“Well, I was in marketing. I lost my job a few weeks ago.”

I wait for the sympathetic wince I’ve seen on every face since I’ve started admitting that fact, but Noah’s expression stays open and curious. “Trying something new?” he asks.

“I’m…taking some time off.”

“That’s good.”

A bolt of annoyance flashes through me. How could he know whether it’s a good thing for me?

The harsh disappointment at losing what I’d thought was my dream job twists beneath my ribs again, and I have to clear my throat before I continue.

“Just for the summer, though. I’ll be back to work in New York soon enough.

” I nod once—sharp, decisive—and try to relax.

“What about you? Liam said Alchemist has only been around for a couple of months. Is that when you moved here?”

“Yeah. A buddy of mine from college always dreamed of opening a brewery. Dumbass kept trying to brew in our dorm room before they caught him,” Noah says fondly. He shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t really have anything else going on, so I said I’d help out.”

I stare at the license plate of the car ahead of us to hide my surprise. Until recently, I hadn’t known what it was like to not really have anything else going on, so I just ask, “Do you like it?”

“So far! It’s so new to me, it’s hard to tell. But I like meeting new people. And the free booze doesn’t hurt.”

“And how do you like Heller?”

“Heller’s great!”

I don’t try to suppress the laugh that bubbles up. “Really?” I say dryly. “Liam says that Alchemist is the most exciting thing to happen to this town in the past decade.”

“That makes me something of a local celebrity, then, doesn’t it? No wonder I’m enjoying myself.” Noah’s tone is light with amusement, and it reminds me briefly of Loren.

Finally we reach the brewery, and as I weave around cars in its half full parking lot, I’m afforded my first glance of Heller’s newest gem.

A wide deck wraps around the front of the building and extends into the back, with twinkling fairy lights and hanging orange canopies stretched over top.

Paired with the late afternoon sun now warming the horizon, the budding lights and neon “A” sign buzzing over the door paint a welcoming invitation.

But Noah hasn’t moved yet. He’s still lounging in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the center console. “What about you? Do you like Heller?” he asks, his head tilted.

“It’s so new to me, it’s hard to tell,” I say, echoing his earlier assessment. “It’s…hot,” I add helpfully. Grumpily.

He laughs, but his smile lingers. “Maybe we can explore it together.” His tone lilts up at the end, turning it into a question. His gaze skates across the horizon like he’s mapping it all out.

And then he trains his clear blue eyes on me.

His suggestion hangs in the air between us, humming with possibility.

I’m caught off guard, but I can’t help the flash of intrigue that blooms in my chest. It would be nice, maybe, to explore this town with someone who’s as displaced as me—someone who looks at Heller as an adventure to be had, ripe with undiscovered magic and opportunity.

Already Noah’s cheerful company has been a welcome distraction, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s so easy on the eyes, either.

Maybe I could use some of his sunshine to chase away my storm-cloud perspective.

Noah tosses his chin toward Alchemist. “Start here. Come in for a minute and see the place.” The brewery’s fairy lights reflect in his eyes when he offers, “First drink’s on the house.”

I consider it. Even from my car I can hear the jaunty crooning of a folk song carrying from the speakers set up outside, and the temptation of a beer to relax the tension in my shoulders almost has me reaching to turn off the ignition.

I can’t lie and say I’m not eager to quiz Noah about how he ended up in Heller.

I wonder, too, if I’m imagining the hopeful note in his invitation—but then again, Noah’s overt friendliness is likely what entices many patrons through those glass doors in the first place.

It’s probably the same charm he turned on Liam, enough to be invited to our D&D group.

It’s hardly a charm I’m immune to, but for today, I’ve reached my quota for new experiences. Reminders of my joblessness and all the groceries I said I wanted to buy circle my thoughts, and I shake my head. I’m just not there yet. Anxiety pools in my stomach.

“I’ve got to make a grocery run,” I say lamely, my smile feeling forced as it stretches my cheeks wide. “I told Liam I’d pick up the TP this week. I’m his only hope.” Unwilling to completely shut the figurative door, I add hopefully, “Next time?”

“Next time.” Noah reverently sets my sketchbook on top of the dashboard before reaching to pat my forearm. He gives it a brief squeeze. “Drive safe, Sadie. And thanks for the ride.”

He shrugs back into his flannel and exits the car, giving a two-fingered salute before he disappears into the brewery.