Page 124 of Left-Hand Larceny

I shrug, rub the back of my neck. “F-feels weird to be l-l-liked for b-being boring.”

She laughs. “You’re not boring, Rags. You’re low volume. That’s different.”

I huff a laugh, but I’ll take it.

She scrolls through her notes. “We’ll roll out the first three clips tonight. Then do one every few days—more if you’re comfortable. I’ll schedule some Q&As. Keep the pressure light, but steady.”

“Thank y-you, Tristan. F-for d-d-doing this.”

“Thanks for trusting me.”

I glance back at the frozen frame on the screen. My mouth is open mid-smile, my eyes crinkled in the way Sadie says she loves. I never used to think of my face like that—something anyone would want to look at. Now? Now I see someone who belongs here. Someone real. And for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m playing catch-up to the rest of the world.

I feel… like myself

“Get out of here Rags,” Tristan tells me with a grin. She’s already turning back to her laptop, fingers typing away at a frenetic pace. “I relinquish you. You’re free. Go say hi to your girlfriend for me.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Sadie and I meet at the fall fair just after five.

The sun’s starting to dip, casting gold over the tents and hay bales. The air smells like cider and kettle corn, and someone’s blasting old country songs from a speaker that crackles everythird beat. Sadie’s standing near the entrance, bundled in a deep green jacket and wearing one of those knitted beanies with a tiny pom on top. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her glasses fogging as she sips something warm.

She looks up and sees me—and her whole face lights. It hits me harder than it should. She jogs the last few steps and practically launches herself into my arms. I catch her easily, spinning her once before setting her back down.

“You came,” she says, breathless.

“W-wouldn’t miss it.”

She narrows her eyes. “Even though I said it was corny?”

“Only b-because you s-said it would b-be.”

She groans, sending me a mock glare, before leaning up to kiss my cheek.

“I’m even in weather-appropriate attire today.”

“Y-you are.”

Sadie tips her head to the side at less-than-enthusiastic look on my face. I kiss her forehead instead of explaining that I secretly liked when she gave me her scarf. The one still hanging in my closet. Or that I pathologically need to see her bundled up in layers I provide.

She laughs and tugs me toward the first row of booths. There’s apple bobbing, face painting, a pie walk. Kids in Halloween costumes dash between hay bales while parents hover with paper cups of cider. The whole thing feels like a postcard from a town that only exists in stories—but Sadie belongs in it.

Somehow, so do I.

We try everything. She beats me at ring toss and gloats shamelessly. I win her a tiny stuffed fox by lobbing ping-pong balls at rubber ducks. Only succeeding by sheer stubborn goalie determination. We split a caramel apple and a paper cone of fries.

Every time she brushes my arm, I lean into it like it’s instinct. And eventually, it becomes one.

“I haven’t done anything like this since I was a kid,” she says, licking sugar off her thumb as we walk past the row of craft booths. Kids paint pumpkins, glue googly eyes on paper plate scarecrows, wind yarn around popsicle sticks to make spiderwebs . “I forgot how fun it is to just… play.”

“I think w-we forget o-o-on purpose,” I say. “So we don’t m-miss it.”

She looks at me, tilting her head. “That’s deep.”

“Sorri.”

“Don’t be. It’s true.”

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