It makes me want to stay in town long enough to find out what Liam’s favorite spots are.
“And it went badly?”
“We didn’t have much in common. He only stayed for one drink.” Liam shrugs it off, unbothered.
“That seems rude.”
“I didn’t mind,” he says, and I wonder if he’s underselling it. I’ve always known Liam to be notoriously picky. “He didn’t want to waste my time.”
“AndIwas a much better conversation partner.” Noah slides back into his spot behind the bar. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye as he made his rounds, and though I pitched this outing inthe hopes that he would hang out with us, I’m glad to see that the brewery is bustling enough to keep him busy.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I say, drumming my purple nails on my glass. I hadn’t cared enough to paint them in months, but I somehow found time to do it after my commission this afternoon. “Liam’s hard to impress, Noah. How did you get from being a total stranger to securing an exclusive invitation to the D&D table?”
Immediately Noah begins to unbutton his flannel.
I’m surprised, but I don’t complain.
He shrugs off the shirt, revealing a dark green Alchemist tee underneath. I try not to let my eyes linger on the way the logo stretches over the wide expanse of his chest. Turning to the left, Noah braces his elbow on the bar top and rolls up his sleeve to show off a flexed arm, his biceps covered in ink.
It all makes sense now. I nod sagely and turn to Liam.
“You invited him for his muscles,” I say. “You wanted to challenge the insidious stereotype that jocks don’t play Dungeons & Dragons.”
Liam scoffs at the same moment that Noah barks out a laugh. I smile into my beer.
“No, Sadie, histattoo.”
I turn back to Noah and pretend to adjust my glasses for a closer inspection.
It’s gorgeous work. It depicts a warrior wielding a glaive like a walking staff, their face shrouded in the depths of their hood save for the glint of a smile. A midnight cloak flows from their shoulders, and the artist did a wonderful job of inking out the dozens of intricate feathers covering the cape. I tilt my head to the side, realizing that each feather is distinctly unique, like they all came from different birds. Liam grins at seeing the tattoo again, but I don’t recognize the character.
“Who are they?”
“It’s the Wayfarer,” they answer at the same time. “FromLegends of Lore,” Noah adds, for my benefit. Liam looks disappointed at my ignorance, while Noah just looks happy to have the opportunity to explain. “He’s not one of the main characters in the game,” he continues. “There’s really only one questline with him, but everyone agrees that it’s one of the best. He’s almost impossible to find because he only spawns in the game every couple of weeks, and always in a different location. When you talk to him, he tells you that he’s trying to cast a spell to find his way home, and the spell requires the feathers from a hundred different magical creatures.”
I wince. A quest like that sounds tedious to me, but Noah’s bright blue eyes are lit with avid interest.
“As you help him gather more feathers, you learn more about him and his travels. When you hand off the last part of the quest, the phoenix feather, he just…flies away.”
I sip my drink. “Does he fly home?”
“You never know!” Noah says it like it’s the best part. “I like to think that he fell so in love with the journey that he kept exploring.”
“At the end you’re rewarded with a version of his cloak, for your character to wear,” Liam adds.
“Does it give you the power to fly, too?” I ask.
“Of course.” They’re talking in unison again.
I nod. I’ve playedLegends of Loreonly a handful of times for Liam’s sake. It didn’t stick, but I’ve been hearing Liam gush about it and its stellar storytelling reputation for years. “I love it. The art’s gorgeous, too—beautiful work. Where did you get it done?”
“My buddy’s shop in NOLA. He does a lot of fantasy stuff, so I knew he’d kill it,” he says. “Do you have any tattoos?” Noah’s searching gaze touches on where he can see my skin—neck, wrists, collarbones.
I have to wet my lips with another sip of beer before I speakagain. “Just one.” I draw up my sleeve to show him where I have a very subtle and pretty tulip tucked near the crook of my elbow, and Noah circles his fingers around my arm to get a better look. I tap on my glass with my free hand to distract myself from the feel of his calloused fingertips on my skin. His hands are warm.
“Pretty,” he hums, tracing the outline of one petal with the pad of his thumb. For a few heartbeats, the gentle circling of his finger is the only thing I can focus on.
“My old job didn’t really encourage us to have tattoos. But I’d like to get more one day. More flowers, maybe? My mom had this whole garden that I loved when I was a kid, and she taught me to take care of it. I could get tons.”
