Dorcas changes everything.
Noah shakes his head and shifts his weight to his good leg, doing a little hop as he lays the phone back on the counter. The dragon head is back in its box, but he’s still wearing the velvet robe. I wonder what, if anything, he has on underneath.
“So you were okay with what I did with Dorcas?” I ask tentatively.
“I loved it. You were brilliant. So sensitive. I really think you tapped into something our followers were missing. Something elemental. Have you done any acting?” Noah asks, placing the Tupperware in his refrigerator.
“A bit,” I say, biting my lip.
“Beer?” He pulls two bottles from the fridge, holding them up.
“Sure,” I say. “Don’t bother with a glass. You should get off that leg.”
He looks dubious for a moment, as if he’d rather not drink straight out of the bottle, but then he shrugs, pulls out a bottle opener from a drawer, and pops the lids off.
Wisps of smoky mist curl up and out of the bottles, like steam, or a genie. Or dragon smoke.
I have to tell him. If I don’t go for it now, I may never have another chance.
We go to sit outside on the porch swing again, swaying gently in the quiet night. It’s like we’re inside our own little pocket here. The distant sound of a neighbor’s garage door closing, or a passing car, are the only sounds besides crickets.Literal crickets.I want to tell him who I really am, but I don’t know where to start.
“Kenna—”
“Noah—”
We both blurt at the same time. Noah laughs. Then he takes my left hand in his right hand and we continue to rock.
“This beer is good,” I say.
This beer is good? Really, Lorelei? Is that the best you can do?
I finish the rest of my bottle and set it aside, tucking my legs up under me and turning toward Noah. He’s still holding my hand in his lap. I want to lay my head on his shoulder, but instead, I look into his eyes and ask a question.
“What do you have against Lorelei Dupont, Noah?”
“Lorelei Dupont?” He looks confused, like this is a totally unexpected non sequitur, which I suppose it is. “Why? What made you think of her?”
“I was just thinking about how you were talking about her in the diner when I met you the other day.”
“When you met me?” He tilts his head. “I’ve been coming into that diner for ages,” he says, shaking his head. “Though, I do suppose it was the first time we’ve talked at any length. I’m so glad we did.”
The swing has come to a standstill, and he squeezes my hand again and pushes off with one foot, setting us adrift again.
“You seemed rather unimpressed with her. I was just curious why you hate her.” His neck smells so nice. Like balsam and juniper. An old-fashioned men’s cologne. Something classic and timeless. I cannot help myself. I lay my head on his shoulder, and once it’s there, I can’t be expected not to feather my lips against his neck, can I?
He lets go of my hand and puts his arm behind me, pulling me closer against him, but he doesn’t make any other moves before answering my question.
“I don’t hate her. She’s a great actress. I grew up watching episodes ofMoxie, and I guess I even had a crush on her. I mean, who didn’t in the 2000s?” Noah says.
He had a crush? On me?
“But you know those celebrity types,” Noah sighs. “Everything they say and do is calculated by their marketing managers and image consultants. They’re about as real as an AI-generated portrait of an alligator winning a pie-eating contest. No wonder so many of them go batshit crazy. After a while, there’s just no more there. I think we’ve all kind of been waiting for Lorelei Dupont to implode. Pity because she’s obviously talented.”
Ouch.
“That’s pretty harsh, and arrogant, coming from a guy who has half a million followers.” I sit up straighter. “One could argue that you have even more fans than Lorelei. So who’s the celebrity now?” I cross my arms across my chest.
“Kenna,” Noah says, stroking the side of my neck. “Why do you even care?”
