“Oh, he’ll be fine. I’ve put in more than enough hours this week anyway.” Noah exhales gently onto the budding fire. Sparks fly up and around his face. He reminds me of Loren, casting magic.
“What’s the sudden rush?”
“We’re a bit of a hot spot around town lately, Sadie,” Noah says, not a small amount of pride in his tone. “Dan’s got tons of ideas for events to bring people in, and they seem to be working. He’s got me in charge of at least half of them.”
“Like what?”
“Game nights, live music, art markets, private events. The game nights are a hit so far. He’s looking for someone to DM a D&D campaign, actually. Do you think Liam might be up for it?”
“It would be hard for him during the school year, but we could ask.” I tilt my head back against the wall of the van. “Honestly, Noah, I think you should DM.”
Noah lets out a low laugh. When I don’t echo it, he looks up and considers me with surprise. “You really think so?”
“You’re a natural storyteller.”
“Liam does so much prep, though. So much research and planning, I…”
“Make it all up. Improvise. Your style doesn’t have to match his.”
He seems to consider this as he watches the kindling finally start to spark. “I’ll think about it,” he muses. His knees pop when he stands, and he wanders over to pluck the bottle of mead from my lap. “But yeah, Alchemist is doing great.”
Of course I can’t help but wonder whether Alchemist’s buzzing success is doing more to attach Noah to Heller or to convince him of how successful another location in Colorado would be.
As if he can sense the direction of my wandering thoughts, Noah ducks into the van and distracts me with a quick kiss to mycheek—just as he gathers my hands and tugs me from my lounging space. “Come on, show’s over. I need your help.”
I want to press him with questions, but as soon as he pulls out the folded-up tent, I’m distracted. “We’re not sleeping in the van?” I’d really been looking forward to testing that mattress out.
“Hell no. You asked for an adventurer-style camping trip. You’re getting one.”
He begins to flap a tarp out over a little square of space where I realize a tent is meant to go. It looks awfully small. Awfullycozy,if I’m being optimistic.
Noah scoffs playfully at me. “Do you think Jaylie would sleep in the van?”
“Given the choice? Of course.”
“Well, this is how Loren would do it. And there are no vans in D&D.”
I won’t admit it, but I’m grateful to have a task as involved as setting up the tent to occupy my mind. I follow each of his directions as best I can, but there are still half a dozen times where I nearly poke his eye out with a tent pole, the fabric almost rips, or the whole thing deflates entirely.
After we manage to set it up, we start prepping for dinner as the sun begins to dive down toward the lake. I drop a blanket and a couple of pillows in front of the fire while Noah breaks out a surprisingly fancy-looking Dutch oven. He proceeds to fill it with tortilla chips, beans, salsa, avocado, and an absurd amount of cheese. “Nothing beats campfire nachos,” he assures me. “Nothing.”
I purse my lips. “There are no nachos in D&D,” I point out.
But Noah audibly guffaws. “You’re telling me D&D has fireballs, beholders, and magic beyond our comprehension—but no wizard ever thought to make nachos? What else is arcane knowledgefor?”
I consider that but then shake my head. “I thought we weresupposed to be imitating our characters and what it’s like to adventure through the forest. I doubt either of our characters are a high enough level for nacho-sorcery.”
Noah ponders this. “I could probably catch a fish,” he says eventually, eyeing the lake down below. “But it would take me a few more hours than nachos would.”
It’s a concession I’m willing to make. “Nachos it is.”
Although the nachos may not be canon food in Liam’s fantasy world, the rest of the evening feels positively magical. After we take turns disentangling chips and stuffing our faces, I lean against Noah’s side as he strums ineffectually at his ukulele. From our perch on the ledge, we watch the dying light to the west paint the water a dozen shades of orange and purple. As we pass the bottle of mead back and forth—“This one is a special wildflower recipe,” he boasts—everything begins to blend together. The shadows cast by the trees stretch longer, the darkness deepens, the temperature finally lets up, and I’m hyperaware of all skin contact: Noah’s shoulder against mine, his hand tucked between my thighs where I have them curled against his hip.
Annoyingly, my mind wanders to the furthest thing from peace. “I made it to the final round of interviews,” I say eventually, as if set on ruining the mood. Earlier this week, Addison sent through my tickets for the last interview on Tuesday.
“Are you excited?”
This time I don’t deflect. “No.”
