Page 7 of Playing For Keeps

“Okay, we’re going to set out these Garden Tiles into a four-by-four grid at random,” she said, lifting the beautiful painted squares. Imperial Japanese imagery was simple but pretty—birds, cherry blossoms, maple leaves, rain clouds.

Farren laid out the player tokens, the feel of them similar to poker chips, one set of black, the other red, each with their own clan person depicted.

“Pick your clan,” she said, gesturing to the tokens. Sebastian eyed her with caution. “It doesn’t change anything, it’s just preference.”

His hand reached out and wrapped around the black pile.

“Okay, so… how it works is we each take a turn to claim a Garden Tile. The win-condition is four of our own-colored tokens either in an uninterrupted row—straight or diagonal—or a square,” Farren read off. “Similar to Connect Four or Tic-Tac-Toe in that way.”

She put out a few tiles to demonstrate a practice turn.

“Whoever goes first gets to pick their starting position on the board by claiming a tile. Each Garden Tile has two elements on it, so either a bird, sun, or a tree, etcetera. The player that goes next has to choose a tile with one of the elements from the previously claimed tile.” Farren demonstrated by capturing a square with a sun on it, depositing her red token in its place, and then took one of Sebastian’s black tokens to capture another piece on the grid with a sun as well.

“Got it? Do you have any questions so far?” she asked, finally glancing up from the game and the booklet.

Sebastian’s hazel eyes were intense, his mood still decidedly sour, but there was a concentration there. It seemed as if he’d absorbed everything Farren said, bound and determined to trounce her on the first go.

“I’m ready.” His voice was firm, still deliciously deep, and with a warm tone Farren thought would translate well for singing. Did he like music? She didn’t think he’d be receptive if she started asking him personal questions right then.

She shuffled the tiles, laying them out at random, trying not to let her mind wander on possible moves. Farren wanted this to be fair. She’d played a good deal of strategy games, so it didn’t seem right to try to predict where things might go before the first token had even been placed.

“You can claim the first tile,” she said, giving him a small smile of encouragement.

Sebastian went for one of the tiles closer to the center; not a bad move, setting himself up for a good number of options. He claimed a piece with maple leaves and a sun on it. Farren found one near the end of the grid with leaves. And on it went.

The waitress brought his food and coffee. He thanked her with an offhand comment but didn’t touch either, forgotten or ignored as they played. The scent was savory and delicious around them. Farren eyed the prized croissant, her own hunger growing by the second, but Sebastian was laser-focused on the small tiles between them.

He seemed to really consider where he was going to place his tile, and despite Farren’s best efforts, she found herself making contingency plans based on where he might lay down his token. It meant her moves were much quicker, more decisive than his.

They were down to the last two tokens each. Farren could see what action would guarantee the win for him, but she’d noticed Sebastian was only thinking one move at a time. So, when he claimed the wrong tile—the one setting her up for victory—it took everything she had not to react and let the game play out to completion.

Realization crossed his face when he placed his last tile, his long lashes shooting up as he opened his eyes in mild horror. Farren claimed the final tile, her grouping of four the only ones on the board.

Something in him seemed to deflate. The competitive glint that had been there just two turns before snuffed out as he resigned himself.

“Best two out of three?” Farren offered, not eager for it to end, especially not with him looking so defeated. It was supposed to be fun, a way to get him to peek out of his hard shell.

Sebastian perked up, sitting upright in his chair and taking a bite of his sandwich, a little moan escaping his mouth at the taste. Farren’s cheeks flamed at the sound. He was cute, good looking in a way that wasn’t alienating. He wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t arrogant, he took care of himself, and it was weirdly attractive to her. His nose was a little crooked, eyebrows dark and thick; his beard was neatly trimmed if a little speckled with early gray that had yet to reach his brown hair.

But those eyes. There was just something about the mossy green swallowed by a dark ring, whiskey brown growing from the pupil. They looked sharp, the wit behind them evident. Sebastian looked at her, and it seemed like nothing else existed outside that gaze. He really paid attention, absorbing when she spoke, his eyes not wandering around the room. There was no glazed, out-of-focus look on his face.

She sipped her hot chocolate, although it was more like chocolate milk by then, and dared to make small talk as they reset the board.

“So, do you work in the area?” she asked, even though she guessed the reprieve he needed was from work. It seemed like the blandest conversation starter she could come up with and stay impersonal.

“Yeah, on I Street, but I live in the area. How about you?” he said between bites, taking time to swallow before talking.

“Same, although where I work changes.”

Sebastian's eyebrows rose in what she assumed was a question, a little “hmm?” from behind his lips as he chewed, confirming her suspicion.

“I’m a substitute teacher. I go where the District needs me.” Farren shrugged. It wasn’t weird for her, though she supposed some people wanted stability, knowing exactly how long their commute would be on any given day, with a routine keeping them on track. Sometimes she thought it might be nice. Mostly, she enjoyed seeing new faces, and the challenge of a different school subject outweighed the comfort of routine.

“Wow, working with kids seems like it would be a lot,” he said, most of his meal devoured, leaving only the last few sips of coffee.

“It can be. I’m doing kindergarten at the moment. Today was actually my first day with that class. The kids were a riot, but so tiring. I’ve never seen so much energy in one room. There has to be caffeine in their Uncrustables or something. It’s not where I’d hoped to be placed. Middle school seemed like the safest bet, but there was a last-minute emergency with one of the teachers, and she knew of me through a friend, so I was requested.” Farren knew she was babbling, her excitement spilling over as she spoke. She genuinely enjoyed the kids today, so sweet, so young, so many voices talking over each other.

“Why substitution? Why not teach full-time?” he asked, making her pause. It’d been ages since someone asked about her career beyond the perfunctory opening questions. Everyone she spent time with or spoke with was generally within her friend group and knew her propensity for yearning… she supposed—her inability to stay still when there was so much more out there to explore.

---