Page 3 of Playing For Keeps

“I’m sensing a theme, a very strategy-heavy set of games here,” Chris said and seemed to think about it for a moment before his hand wrapped around the little pink pyramid-shaped bag.

“‘Pink Hijinks’ it is!” Farren exclaimed.

“Better watch out, Davis. I’m coming for your record. I picked up my own set not too long ago, and I’m getting much better.” He waggled an eyebrow at her, and it was on. Competition would drive her spirit and save the flagging energy she’d struggled with after the work day. Chris pulled out the tiny three-by-three cloth grid and stacked the clear pink pyramids on top of each other, largest to smallest.

They took turns trying to push pieces into each other’s spaces, stealing pyramids the other wanted. For such a simple game, it seemed to take a decent amount of time, but by the end of it, Chris emerged triumphant with a line of three medium sized pyramids in the row closest to him. Although Farren should have probably been more sour about her loss, it was worth it to hear his little whoop before he punched his fist into the air.

“Good job. I hope you’re ready for a rematch at a later stage. I have a reputation to uphold, after all,” Farren joked, and Chris agreed.

“Perfect timing!” Chris said, and Farren turned to see her friends approaching.

Corinne looked harried, cheeks pink and her dark hair a little messy, as if she and Luis rushed to make it over in time. Knowing Miss Alison, that was most likely the case. Behind them was a new face, and after the usual hugs and greetings, Luis gestured to his friend.

“This is Braxton. They work in the admin department at school. It only took a few weeks of bringing games into their office to convince them to give it a try.” Luis’s words were teasing, but Braxton took it in stride and raised a hand in greeting, one corner of their mouth lifting up in a shy smile. They had a shock of blue hair, short on the sides and swooping back from their forehead. It reminded Farren of Pigeotto from Pokémon. They also had one of those dimple piercings she’d seen online but never had the guts to try.

“Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” Farren tried to soothe.

“Much,” Chris added, and Farren knew there was nothing to worry about when it came to Chris and his comfort zone. He already gave a cheeky smile to the newcomer.

Luis set his own bag down on the table, its protruding sharp edges attesting to how fully he’d packed it. He did that every time. Even though they only had a few hours in the coffee shop, he always packed as if they were on the verge of running out of games to play. The newcomers took their seats, and Farren rose from her own when Corinne gave her ‘the look,’ the one that told her there was something to gossip about in private.

“I’ll be right back. Getting our drinks,” Corinne said for Luis’s benefit, but he was already engrossed in discussing a new game he’d picked up earlier in the week.

Farren followed her friend toward the growing line, contemplating a little something to go along with her drink.

“What’s up?” Farren asked.

“She made a comment about the house, about how we should probably look into getting someone to take care of it now that I’m back at work and Alison’s in daycare.” Corinne’s brows pinched, and her eyes got a little too bright. “I just cleaned!”

“I’m really sorry,” Farren lamented with her friend, letting her vent about the hardships of mothers-in-law. Not something Farren had to worry about. Not something she’d ever have to worry about, if her track record was anything to go by. Farren interjected with all the properly timed noises, some agreeing, some frustrated, as Corinne ranted on. It was all Corinne needed—an outlet.

The line was pretty long, busy with the evening rush as people grabbed a small bite after getting off work or settled in for a fun Friday night. The press of bodies felt a little claustrophobic, and when Farren tried to take a step backward so her chest didn’t press into the person ahead, she bumped into a solid, warm body.

“I’m really sorry,” she threw over her shoulder, moving back into her small, relegated space. Farren got a brief impression of darkish hair, a frown over the screen of his cellphone. He looked vaguely familiar, probably a regular.

Corinne diverted her attention again, this time worrying about missing milestones in Alison’s life now that she was back from her maternity-leave-turned-sabbatical. She loved working at the Anacostia Museum, but the guilt she felt at returning to work was understandable—especially when it meant less time to try and tame Alison’s wilder antics. Farren tutted in understanding, assuring her friend that Alison wasn’t worse for wear. Her boisterous energy wasn’t unusual for her age.

Freshly ground coffee, sweet baked goods, and something else, something dark, musky and reminiscent of bonfires surrounded by evergreens filled her nose. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was the stranger behind them, so close, she could practically feel the heat pouring off his body.

Corinne must have noticed her distraction, mischief lighting up her features as they did that unspoken thing, something gained after years of friendship: the uncanny ability to communicate without actually speaking. Pointed eye movement, a sly smile. Farren shook her head and urged her friend to drop it. A scoff followed by a shrug that seemed to say ‘fine, your loss,’ before Corinne was called up to the register.

Her friend shot her one more look, getting a good eyeful of the stranger. Corinne’s order was ready quickly, and she gave Farren a raised eyebrow and a smile before she headed back to the table.

Two registers opened up at the same time, Farren and the stranger walking up to the counter, standing beside each other now. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was tall, dressed as if he’d come from the office.

“Back again?” the barista asked, and Farren’s attention was drawn to the task at hand.

“Yeah, I figured I had to have a baked goodie to go with the hot chocolate.” She peered into the glass case beside the register, taking in the offerings.

Croissants, cruffins, pinwheels. Savory, sweet, and everything in between.

One jumped out at her, its flaky golden exterior, sumptuous filling and crumble top practically whispered her name through the glass.

“Can I have the... honey lemon twice-baked croissant?” she asked, reading off the name from the little tag. The barista reached into the display with her gloved hand, tucking the pastry into a little wax paper bag. The man beside her asked for something to eat, coffee, and the same dessert she’d just ordered. His voice spread over her with a honeyed buzz, and part of her kicked around the idea of getting back in the dating game.

“That’s going to be four-ninety-five,” her barista said at the same time his apologized, “I’m so sorry, it seems we’ve sold the last one.”

Farren slid her card into the chip reader, the little machine beeping happily as it ran her transaction, and she risked a look over at the man beside her, a scowl twisting his handsome face into something intimidating. It never occurred to her that she’d ever experience a look of such malice over pastry and lemon curd, but there was a first time for everything, apparently.

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