The young man knelt by his instrument's case, popped the mouthpiece out of his trumpet and wiped it with a clean handkerchief. Not a piece of cloth he wore looked more cared for than that handkerchief.

At some angles, he looked a bit like Noah Longbottom.

“Got something coming up at the tavern,” he said, then slipped the handkerchief into a compartment under the trumpet frame.

Sounded a bit like Noah Longbottom, too.

He glanced up at Ellie.

“… What kind of sweets?”