And how much am I willing to give?
Noah huffs out a quick laugh then shakes his head. “Let me take you out, Sadie.” He reaches forward and gathers my hands in his. “This weekend.”
“Oh.” My chest is so full of heat and warmth andlight,it feels like I’ve swallowed the sun. “Okay.”
He bends his head so that his gaze meets mine evenly. I worry the heat from my cheeks might fog my glasses, as much of an impossibility as that is. “Like adate,” he says meaningfully. He squeezes my hands on the last word for emphasis.
“Like a date,” I echo. I let the words hover in the air between us before I nod my head. “So you’re sure.”
He laughs. “I’m sure.”
“Then—I’d like that.”
“Good.” He uses his hold on my hands to tug me forward a little until he can press another kiss into my cheek. I love the way his beard feels against my skin. “Me, too.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
“Well, it’s about goddamn time.”
I groan at Liam’s comment. He snickers from where he stands at the kitchen counter, struggling to uncork our second bottle of Trader Joe’s discount wine. Neither of us really knows shit about wine, but we generally agree that anything that’s either white or rosé with a pretty label is good enough.
“You’re not upset? You don’t think that my seeing him will, y’know—mess up the party vibes, or make anyone feel uncomfortable?” I ask. I’m sprawled against the arm of the couch, swirling the remnants of my wine.
Liam’s stare is so aggressively deadpan that I can’t help but hunch over in a fit of giggles. “Sadie,” he says flatly, barely managing to contain a smile. It’s the same tone he uses to chastise Howard when he’s being a little shit. “You two have been flirting for the whole campaign—in characterandout of character. I think we’ve all been waiting for this from the start, and it hasn’t disrupted our dynamic yet. If anything, you two have made it all that much more enjoyable to witness. For all of us.”
“Uh-huh,” I scoff, smiling despite myself. I finish the rest of my glass, savoring the overly sweet prosecco as it bubbles its way down.My head is swimming pleasantly, and everything seems a little bit brighter.
“But what if things go badly?” I continue. “What if it’s a disaster and he reveals that he’s secretly been a terror this whole time?”
“Then I kick him out of the game, and we’re down a bard. Mechanically, it wouldn’t be a huge loss,” Liam says. His tone is carefully indifferent, and I smile. D&D would be much less fun without Loren’s witty quips and hilarious whining, and we both know it. But Liam’s always on my side, and if things go poorly with Noah, Liam will be the first to jump to my defense.
He finally comes to sit on the couch cushion next to me, uncorked bottle tucked carefully under his arm while he balances two bowls brimming with warm ramen in his hands.
“But he’s not a terror, Sadie,” Liam continues, placing each bowl on the coffee table. His cooking skills have come a long way since our microwave ramen days in college: the bowls are brimming with pork belly, chili oil, carrots, mushrooms, and—my personal favorite—soft-boiled eggs. “I think you’ll have a good time. He’s good people.”
I think again of Noah—hell, I’d spent all fuckingweekthinking about Noah, stealing kisses in the back room of Alchemist after every morning painting session—and a familiar warmth blooms in my chest. I push off from my lounging spot on the couch.
“It complicates things, though,” I say as I lift noodles from the broth, letting them cool before slurping them down.
Liam pauses with his noodles halfway to his mouth. “How so?”
“Summer’s halfway over. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”
The bubbles in my stomach churn uncomfortably at the thought.
“You know you can stay as long as you like, Sadie.” Before I can protest, Liam holds a hand up to stop me. “But I know that’s not your plan, especially with how well the Paragon stuff is going. Aslong as Noah knows where you stand, too, then there’s no harm done.”
I refill our glasses with rosé and sip mine for a good twenty seconds before speaking again. “Why did you stay, Liam? In Heller. What changed your mind?”
I still remember the day he told me that he wasn’t coming back to Connecticut—that he wasn’t coming back to the East Coast at all. It was the summer after we’d graduated college, and he’d gone down to Texas to be with his grandpa before he died, and to settle all of his affairs after he passed, too. After the tears, he’d joked with me over video call that he was going to sell the giant house he’d inherited for a buttload of money—the house where he’d spent so many summers and Christmases—and get us a swanky apartment in the middle of Manhattan. Then one week away from home turned into three, and then two months, and then the whole summer.
Liam kept claiming that there was more to his grandpa’s affairs than he’d realized, and that he needed more time to organize them and decide what to do. And then he’d called, his wavering voice lacking the confidence and absolute assurance it always had, and admitted to me that he wanted to stay. I could tell he felt awful. We’d made so many plans: to find the perfect apartment, to finally go to the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island, to visit every wine bar in every borough until we found the best one. But of course I’d been supportive. I was disappointed, but I understood. Or I could at least try to understand.
He snorts, and the sound surprises me out of my memories. “I stayed in Heller because I knew there wasn’t any other way I’d get a house within the next ten years on a teacher’s salary,” he says dryly.
“Sincerely, though.”
