Lucky Numbers 34, 23, 67, 5, 40, 17
As I set my pencil to the empty page, a brief flash of optimism settles in my chest. Maybe my luck is turning after all.
Chapter
Two
The morning of our game’s first session, it’s easier to get out of bed than it has been for weeks. Rather than having the day stretch out before me, intimidatingly empty and directionless, I’ve got an agenda. I’ve got—
“Coffee, Sadie!” Liam calls up the stairs.
That, too.
I roll out of bed, careful not to disturb a still-sleeping Howard—whose alliance with me I suspect might have Liam feeling jealous—and trot downstairs to the kitchen, where Liam stands leaning against the counter. He’s got on dark shorts and a green button-up, short hair already carefully combed in a stylish sweep to the side. Liam has never dressed casually a day in his life.
“Morning.” He’s not entirely successful at hiding the surprise in his tone when I appear so shortly after his summoning. He’s probably grown used to me reheating my coffee closer to noon—but that’s when today’s game starts. “You excited?”
“Something like that,” I tease. I grab for my coffee, which isn’t in its usual mug, but in a paper takeout cup. “What’s this?”
“A latte from Busy Bean down the street. Best in town, and I thought we deserved a treat today.” He pauses. “You should check them out sometime—or we can go together.”
I nod distractedly and take a sip, not registering much taste beyondhot.
I hadn’t picked up on it the first time, when Liam asked me a couple of weeks ago to water his plants in the backyard while he was at work. Or the day after that, when he asked me to drop off a few letters for him at the post office. But eventually I noticed how he seemed to have one small, innocuous errand for me every day. Some tiny excuse to get me out of the house—or even just out of the guest room. I’d resented it at first and ignored it more than once. But somewhere along the line, I’d started to look forward to my little daily quests.
“Wake me up next time,” I offer. “I’ll go with you.”
Liam straightens and smiles. “Okay.”
But those errands are small potatoes compared to the big weekly commitment I’ve signed myself up for—participating in fantasy-improv with a bunch of strangers. I glance toward the front door, half expecting them to barge right in.
When I take another drink of coffee, it’s bracing.
“Walk me through who’s playing again?”
Liam rolls his own cup between his palms. “They’re all beginners like you—never played before.” It was the first thing he’d assured me of when he initially pitched the idea of starting a summer D&D campaign. “I recently met the bard, Noah, and we connected over online gaming; the other two I know from work. Julie teaches orchestra at the middle school, right down the hall from me.” He winces at what I’m guessing is the memory of children sawing away at out-of-tune stringed instruments. “And Morgan works at the bookstore downtown. After summer school hours, I like to pick up shifts there to keep myself busy.”
I huff out a laugh through my nose. Running ourselves ragged for work is something Liam and I have in common.
Well.Hadin common.
Before my sullen silence has a chance to stretch and fill thekitchen, Liam continues seamlessly. “Should probably get dressed, Sadie. I told Jules she could come early to prep snacks.”
I glance down at my cotton PJ shorts and oversized high school marching band shirt. Maybe not the best choice for my very first adventure. “I’ll fetch my cloak and sword,” I tease dryly.
I hike back to the guest room, and as I tug on a tank top, a car pulls up outside of the house. Curious to catch my first glimpse of the other players, I inch up the window blinds with a fingertip and peer down at the driveway.
But it’s not Julie who’s arrived early—instead, a burly man climbs out onto the pavement and waves at the driver before the car pulls away.
This must be Noah.
The bard.
I can’t help but snort. I would never call this lumberjack of a mancute—at least, not in the boyish, clean-cut way that Liam normally means.
Brawny, maybe,I think, noting how the thin fabric of his green flannel stretches across his broad shoulders. His hair, long and bound in a messy bun at the back of his neck, shines copper-penny red in the sunlight, darkening to a muted red-brown as he steps under the shade of a tree. I can tell he’s tall just by the way he has to duck. He scrubs a hand over his red beard as he glances down at his phone and then up at the house, probably to make sure he’s in the right place.
Just as I decide on the scientific classification ofruggedly handsome,I swear he hears my thoughts and tips his head up to meet my gaze—surely I imagine the way his teeth flash a white smile in the tangle of his beard. I jerk back from the window just as another car arrives.
