He’s sliding his finger into me when a twig snaps.
We both freeze.
Slowly, Noah’s hand withdraws from under my bra and comes up to wrap around my mouth. I inhale through my nose, and he draws us both beneath the surface.
Under the water, neither of us can help the way our laughter escapes upward in a rush of bubbles. Noah takes my face between his hands and presses a rough kiss to my cheek. He kicks backward and resurfaces a polite three feet away from me.
I peek my head above the surface, and as the breaking of twigs and the rustling of several pairs of feet come closer, a group of four college-age kids emerges from behind the trees. The girl at the front, blue hair piled in a bun on top of her head, lifts her brows in surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Usually this spot’s empty, we don’t mean to inter—”
The water surges upward in a massive splash as one of the boys hurls himself into the stream. The other boy follows soon after him, whooping. The last girl, sporting a pink bikini, hefts a cooler and shakes her head in resignation, as if used to their antics.
“The more the merrier.” Noah grins. Always friendly, forever outgoing.
I wade up next to him and swallow hard. “We should probably—”
“Y-yeah.” Thank fuck he sounds as out of breath as I feel. “Could you, ah—could you grab me the towel?”
For once the heat is soothing as I emerge from the stream, and the shivering and the goosebumps that aren’t completely the fault of the icy water soon begin to fade. I can’t help but feel a little smug as I toss Noah the towel, which he wraps around his waist immediately after climbing out of the water.
We head back to our spot and splay out on the blanket, Noah leaning against the base of a tree and me on my back, head restingon his thigh. It gives me the perfect vantage point to watch rivulets of water run from the ends of his hair down the planes of his chest.
“Just our luck, Sadie,” he sighs dramatically. His chest swells with the motion. “I’ve been out here half a dozen times now, and this is the first time I’ve ever had to share the space.”
I shrug helplessly. “Jay hasn’t taught me her secrets yet.” His forearm stretches across my chest, and I trace along the tendons on the back of his hand. His skin is starkly warm against my paleness. Later I’ll pay for forgetting sunscreen. “What would we have done if I hadn’t jumped?” I almost hadn’t.
“Oh, I had lots of options.” He gestures toward the items spread out around his backpack. Strawberries, books, a card game, art supplies. My heart squeezes a little.
“A choose-your-own-adventure date?” I tease.
“Fitting, isn’t it?”
“What’s in the bottle?”
“I’m so glad you asked.”
I sit up on my elbows as he plucks the bottle from beside his backpack. He holds it out for me to sip from, but I narrow my eyes a little.
“It’s something I brewed up,” Noah explains.
“From Alchemist?”
He shakes his head. I wait for him to continue, but he just smiles.
I crane my neck to take a testing sip of the amber liquid. Immediately I know it’s not beer. It’s definitely alcohol, but it’s far too sweet to be beer. It’s got the same fruity undertones as cider, too, but it’s not so bubbly. I take a deeper drink, let it pass over my tongue. There’s a heavy smoothness to it—thick, almost. I’ve never tried anything like it. It’s too unfamiliar to be enjoyable yet, but I’m compelled to keep drinking it.
“Is it cider?” I guess.
“It’s mead.”
My eyebrows form a confused knot on my forehead. “Like, old-timey medieval mead? Like D&D tavern-type shit?”
“Sure,” he says, laughing. “That kind of mead.”
“Is that what you’ve been working on in the back of the brewery?” I remember the times we’ve been at Alchemist this week; when I’m actually working on the mural and he’s not busy pressing me up against the wall in the back room, he’s hard at work monitoring the huge metal tanks full of brew. A true alchemist.
“No, actually. Mead’s the first thing I ever brewed, way before I even worked at Alchemist. It’s the easiest of all alcohol.” Noah always sounds enthusiastic when discussing his interests, but this is one of the first times I’ve seen his eyes really passionately light up. His tone is almost as reverent as when he’s talking about backpacking. “All you really need is honey, yeast, water, whatever fruits or flavors you might like, and a few weeks’ patience. I used oranges and raisins for this one. It’s so low-maintenance, I can even keep a gallon brewing when I’m on the road.” His voice softens a little, and he leans closer. “Do you like it?”
“I think so. It’s growing on me.” I take another small sip—got to be careful with the pacing on this one—and set the bottle upright next to me.
