Darzsa hurried to get his coat, not minding Pearl or anyone else asking where he was going. The back door opened to a narrow, dark street behind Chéri. The sounds of distant parties ricocheted off the walls. They moved away from the door, careful not to be interrupted by those ending or continuing their evening or dawdlers who didn’t know to mind their business. 

Josiah stepped through a patch of light. It was as if God himself molded this perfect being from the soils of the Mississippi. The view was enough to get Darzsa on his knees and pray to whatever god Josiah thought he channeled through this medium.  

“This Lottie must do well for herself. All the girls were talking about her.” Darzsa leaned against the wall. “What is it that you find so intriguing about this...new church she wants to build?”

Josiah stepped in front of him; his head lolled to the side. “Coming home after the war wasn’t what I thought it would be. For us,” he pointed between the two of them, “there’s no praise or parades or escaping it. There’s no preparation for dealing with what waits for you back home and what you bring back with you. She helped me deal with a lot of it. And the things you lose long after you come home.”

Darzsa’s hitched breath reverberated in his ears. The pain growing and contorting Josiah’s face was familiar to him—what we want to forget that never lessens with time. He still felt that there was no way this woman was the real deal, but if Josiah and others found solace in vague platitudes from a stranger, he figured he had nothing to lose after all.

“What are these readings like?” Darzsa grabbed Josiah’s coat hem, a soft tug that brought him closer and closer.

“You can come and see it for yourself.” 

“Alright. If I come, who would I contact? I doubt any of my ‘loved ones’ want to talk to me.” 

“There are other means of seeking answers. Maybe you can find out what happened with Daniel.” 

Darzsa’s chest caved at the mention of his brother. How many days had it been since he received that letter? He’d lost count. The bastard didn't even have the courtesy to warn him before cutting contact.

“What are you thinking about?” Josiah pushed his finger into Darzsa’s chin. “You still get this dimple here when you’re upset.”

“What?” Darzsa swatted his hand away. “N-no, I don’t.” Since when did he stutter? Darzsa covered the lower half of his face, which warmed his cold fingers.

“Your stubbornness hasn’t changed either.” Josiah laughed. That sugary-sweet sound stuck like molasses to him. Darzsa wanted to hear more of his voice, how those vibrations felt against his skin. Josiah secured Darzsa’s hands in his, blowing on them, the corner of his lips curved.

“What is it?” The question almost caught in Darzsa’s throat, cognition ceasing and senses directed to the increasing heat in his hands.

“You’re not that same moody sixteen-year-old who gave us the silent treatment and listened at the door. You’ve grown up on me, Mr. Blake.”

Oh, the things Darzsa would do to hear Josiah say his name. “You’ve gone through quite the change yourself, Mr. Adams.” 

Josiah placed a kiss on the back of Darzsa’s hand, breath warm and toasting Darzsa’s reddening skin. Wintry hands lifted Darzsa’s chin and cooled his cheek. “To new beginnings.” 

Cheers to wonders wild and new. 

Josiah’s arm around Darzsa’s waist brought him in close. Darzsa had been kissed more times than he cared to remember, but Josiah’s lips on his were radiant light on a quilted field of snow. 

Darzsa opened his mouth and tasted the faint moonshine on Josiah’s tongue. It was enough to get drunk off it, off him. Breathing through his nose, Darzsa inhaled faint whiffs of sweet corn liquor mingled with lavender; the only bitterness was knowing he couldn’t take Josiah home with him. Yet. Precious gems could only be extracted at the expense of great labor.

Darzsa pulled away, keeping their lips close, grasping at the arm of Josiah’s coat like the last remnants of his self-control.

“I will flatter you with a visit for a reading. Only one. No promises after that.”

Josiah kept that proximity with him, suggesting, “This weekend?”

Darzsa took a deep breath. If Jo was with him, he was okay. It might be worth it. “It’s a date.”