Lyra smiles. "So it does, then."
The door opens, and two women step inside. One is tall with dark, tanned skin. The other is petite, with a mass of curly red hair.
"And there's the rest of our group." Lyra twists in her chair. "Bella! Noemi! Over here!" She waves them over. "I'll get you a couple of steins."
"Not of this shit," I say, holding up mine.
Lyra winks. "Of course not. They tip better than you."
"Har, har," I mutter as she gets up and Arabella and Noemi join me.
It's Friday, which means our usual night at June's. The tradition started several years ago, when the three of us looked at one another and realized we were workaholics with no social lives. We started meeting here every Friday to drink. Lyra moved back to Starling Vale about a year ago and joined us, and the rest is history.
She married an orc a few months ago, which reminds me yet again of the orc trying to undo something as strong as love. Things have changed a little since her wedding, but we still make time for this.
Having a routine helps. Having friends helps more.
Without them, I'd bury myself in my work.
A wedding dressmaker who will never make a dress for herself.
Why the hell is that bothering me so much? The interaction lasted only a few minutes, but it has followed me around for days.
I take another drink.
"Whoa, easy there," Arabella says in her warm, smooth voice. She raises a cautioning hand. "I can tell from the smell that that's the stuff Lyra gives me for my sourdough beer bread. It's rank."
"Perfect," I croak.
Arabella and Noemi exchange a glance. Then Lyra sets down their steins and places a fresh one in front of me. "There. That one should be better." She gives me a wink.
They drink and sigh happily. I eye my new mug before taking a cautious sip. Unlike the first one, this goes down smoothly and settles warm in my belly.
That's how a drink should taste. Not... whatever Lyra gave me before.
"So." Lyra throws an arm over the back of her chair. "How is everyone doing these days?"
Arabella lifts a shoulder. "Same ol', same ol'. I have an order of cookies that has to be ready tomorrow. Fifteen dozen. Can you imagine?"
"Are they all for one person?" Noemi asks.
The three of them laugh, because most people would try to eat a hundred and eighty of Arabella's cookies by themselves if their stomachs allowed it. She's famous across the realm for her baking, especially her cookies and pastries. No matter how many you eat, you never gain a pound.
You can still run out of room, though. It happens more often than anyone would admit.
Her wedding cakes are just as popular. Good thing most people only need one. Maybe two, if life takes an unexpected turn.
"I hope not," Arabella says. "They're for a birthday party. What about you two?"
"Similar here," Noemi says. "Busy, but..."
And isn't that the truth?
Busy, but...
"That about sums it up for me too," I say.
I catch the look all three of my friends exchange.
