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.”
