Page 69 of Every Chance After

“No problem whatsoever.”

“What is this?” she asks.

“It’s my game room. Game-making is my hobby.”

Grady glances from me to the menagerie of board games scattered on shelves and tables across the small space. “Youmakeboard games?”

“I tinker. I’m no artist like you, Marigold. That’s why my pieces leave a bit to be desired. But I like strategy and solving puzzles. I buy old games second-hand and try to create something new out of them. That one’s calledMilk & Eggs. It’s a grocery store game—go figure. The object is to avoid the distractions, obstacles, and pitfalls around the store to get the items you came there for and get out quicker than your opponents.”

Grady looks confused, but Marigold says, “Fun. What about this one?”

“Oh, that’sTickety-Boo. I heard the expression once on an old British mystery. It stuck with me, though I’m sure it’s not a phrase anyone uses these days. Tickety-boo is a funny way of saying everything’s okay, like hunky-dory. The object is to handle embarrassing moments on the cards with as much grace and politeness as possible. Oh, and when you read the cards, you have to keep a straight face. It’s always so funny when someone tells you not to laugh. What happens?”

Marigold laughs.

“Exactly. The game ends at a formal dinner party when the guests vote for the most well-mannered household member. That person must give a toast, mentioning the day’s mishaps without cracking up to be deemed the winner.”

“Sounds fun,” she says.

“Yeah, thanks. I think they’re fun. Um, they have yet to be tested by anyone but me and cats.”

“You invent games, you don’t play?” Grady asks, his narrow eyes and folded arms making me feel judged.

“Iwantto play them… It’s just… Anyway, nothing says family like a board game. Mom and I used to play sometimes. Um, anyway, do you have any hobbies, Grady?”

“He fishes,” Marigold answers, “and complains.”

I chuckle while Grady grunts

“Can we play sometime?” Marigold asks.

I gasp. “You want to play them with me?”

Her brow stitches like she’s unsure. She glances at Grady.

“Yes, she wants to play with you,” Grady clarifies. “She gets nervous when you answer a question with a question.”

“Oh, sorry, Marigold. I’d love to play games with you. Let’s make a night of it soon. I’ll let you decide if you want Grady to join us. Do you like popcorn?”

Marigold nods. Grady waves her out of the room, saying, “Are we ready to go?”

I grab a fuzzy, pink cardigan from the back of a chair, my purse, keys, and cane. “Ready. I think.”

Grady ushers us out, takes my keys, and locks the door behind us. His hand grips my elbow as I move more slowly down the stairs. His hand is warm and rough, just like him. He opens the passenger door and hooks my cane to his forearm.

“No Beast today?” I ask, glancing over his much newer black F150.

“Nope. This is my truck. Just got it out of the shop.”

He takes my hand to help me inside—help I don’t need, but appreciate. Is it wrong that I like him having an excuse to touch me?

Geez, Marnie! Lonely much?

He gets in the truck and starts the engine, but hesitates, turning to me with a pinched brow. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

“Oomph, now you’re making me nervous.”

“Me, too,” Marigold chimes in from the backseat.

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