Page 56

Three Months Later

It’s been only a few weeks since he moved in, but already Noah’s new studio has more character than his old room at Dan’s ever did.

A funky thrifted green-striped couch slouches comfortably in the corner across from where his bed nestles against the wall.

Above his desk stretches a large corkboard, already crowded with dozens of pictures, postcards, and ticket stubs.

Bottles of fermenting mead cluster together on the shelves above his fridge next to four-packs from the brewery, and a candle burns merrily on his tiny dining room table.

As I wait for Noah to finish getting ready in the bathroom, I glance to where the portrait of Loren I’d painted for him hangs in a leafy golden frame above the couch.

I smile to myself. It had been his first decoration.

I’d gifted everyone portraits of their characters at the end of the campaign, but Loren’s especially had been a labor of love.

He sits with his lute cradled in his arms, posed in front of a campfire.

I’d also added a few tiny details of my own: the reflection of fire in his eyes, one of Marlana’s coins hanging on a cord from his neck, and a small collection of individually unique feathers woven into his traveling cloak.

When Noah emerges from the bathroom, my brain stutters.

“Well? What do we think?” he asks.

I take a sip of water, unsure of when my mouth suddenly became dry.

Noah’s booted heels click against the hardwood floor as he spins in a slow circle, his dark green cloak fluttering in his wake.

Tucked into his boots, light linen pants hug his calves and billow out around his thighs.

His olive-green shirt is downright swashbuckling, with its loose sleeves and wonderfully deep, open V.

Noah’s left most of the laces undone so that the costume-jewelry amulets he’d found are on the best display.

“I’ll never get over this,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. To my light horror, he’d shaved his face completely yesterday to better do his costume justice. But already he’s stubbly again, which I admit looks particularly dashing.

The latex elf ears stuck over his own are the cherry on top.

I press my palm to my chest. “Consider me thoroughly charmed, bard.”

He catches my fingers, bowing slightly as he lifts my knuckles to his lips. I wonder if he knows that the way he’s looking at me through his long lashes is making my knees go weak.

“I’m almost ready,” I say. Jules helped me order a petal-pink corset online, and I pick it up from where I’d tossed it to the couch. “Can you help me put this on?”

“Only if I can help you take it off later.”

Oh, I have every intention of it.

While Noah navigates the maze of ribbon laces at my back, I scroll through our D he just texts a mirror pic of himself decked out in a sparkling purple robe with gently mussed hair and a homemade green orb-capped staff at his side. I’d spent hours helping him paint it last week.

What he didn’t paint, though, is his face.

Liam:

I can’t commit. It would all melt off, anyway!

Jules:

Awwwww

Morgan:

COWARD

I let out a quiet yelp as Noah pulls the corset tighter. “Almost there,” he promises. I drum out a response to the others.

Howl’s moving castle vibes. You killed it.

Morgan:

He’s just doing hot-Alastair because I’m bringing my brother

Jules:

Oooooo

I’ve met Morgan’s twin and my new co-worker Marcus only a handful of times since he returned from his summer abroad, but I can already tell that he shares his sister’s earnest friendliness and blunt, infectious humor.

He’d trained alongside me at Bluebonnet as Morgan showed us how to manage the café, where I’ve been picking up a few shifts when I’m not working on my next project: a storybook mural for the kids’ section.

I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity than to work with them while I explore daydreams about what comes next for me.

But it’s Liam who’s been the most keen to spend time with Marcus.

After a few instances when I caught sight of his car pulling into Liam’s driveway— our driveway—just as I pulled out, I’d gently encouraged Liam to invite him to join our game.

It hadn’t taken much persuading for Liam to agree to extend our current campaign—especially after the hellish cliff-hanger he’d left us on—and I knew from Morgan’s delightfully meddling hints that Marcus would love to play, too.

So, starting in a few weeks, he’ll embark on the next chapter with us, and already I can’t wait to see what he thinks of our rowdy crew as we battle to escape from Hell.

Jules:

Sadie? Noah? How are things coming for y’all?

Liam:

I’ll be there in ten, so you better be ready

we’re ready!!

With one more great tug, Noah ties off the corset and settles his hands tiredly on his hips, looking for all the world like he’s just finished a workout.

I hold my phone out at arm’s length. “Pic for the group?”

Noah ducks in for a selfie by pressing his cheek to mine, and I take a moment to marvel at how incredible we look together.

Although my hair isn’t as long as Jaylie’s, I’ve started to let it grow out, and my curls bounce underneath the circlet I’d fashioned with gold coins.

My face is fuller, and the dark circles I’d arrived in Texas with are long gone.

I painted my lips to match the pink layered skirts of my dress, and my corset—

I glance down in alarm to where it looks like my boobs are about to spill out my front.

For someone who can regularly get away with going braless, it’s not a problem I’ve had before. I never thought it was even possible to get them to look like this.

Noah, too, seems momentarily caught in their orbit. “Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “We should go to Renaissance Faires more often.”

Three sudden raps at the door startle us out of our fit of giggles.

“Hah! Almost forgot.” Noah ducks back into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of mead. Jules had insisted on the importance of a little pregaming in the parking lot before heading inside the Faire. Something about tradition.

Noah’s eyes light up with sweet mischief as he points the neck of the bottle at me.

“Want to try a little? Before we head out?” I’ve noticed him brewing batches more and more often, both at home and in kegs at Alchemist. He has plans to put some on tap soon, to test it out with the patrons.

After that, well—maybe then I’ll show him the pitch I put together for fun, proposing Alchemist as a vendor at the Faire next year.

I circle my arms loosely around his waist, my fingers linking behind his back. “What’s it this time?”

“Vanilla.” His tone is thick with amusement.

“Forever a classic,” I tease.

He fishes two glasses out of his cabinet. “You know,” he muses, “they’ve got Faires like these all over the country. If we really like it, maybe next summer I’ll take you on a whole tour.”

He pops off the cork and pours a splash of sparkling gold into each of our cups.

“Off on another adventure, then?” I say.

“Every day is an adventure with you, love.”

We raise our glasses to the ceiling and clink them together.

“To adventure, then.”