“Sounds complicated.”
“It is.” And he didn’t know the half of it.
“If noise doesn’t bother you, you could try a coffee shop?”
“I thought about that, but I have to fit into an old costume on New Year’s and when I get in the zone I forget to watch what I put in my mouth and—I just said that, didn’t I?”
“That is what she said.” Declan chuckled. “You want a quiet place to work with no distractions.”
“Yeah, but it’s the holidays so that’s a tall order. I can go knock out my Christmas shopping but...I don’t want to.”
“If you don’t mind company you could set up at my place. It’s a bit far from you, I imagine.”
Oh, sweet temptation...
A little male company could be good for her. They had a good back and forth banter going for them, and flirting never hurt anyone. She wouldn’t do anything, but...it was fun to flirt. It was harmless fun. Besides, they were working together.
“I don’t know... Are there snow drifts?” She pushed her feet into the boots and tackled the zippers.
“Lots, I’m afraid, but no stairs.”
Rashae turned toward the full-length mirror. It was hard to shift her view of Mr. Loveridge, an older, game savvy man who probably wore loafers and a Mr. Rodger’s sweater, to Declan of the firm ass, sexy brogue, and bright blue eyes.
“It would be awfully convenient to bounce more ideas around while I sketch...” She tugged at the edge of her blouse. Was this too dressy? She’d gone with the pale blue blouse, jeans and boots for their lunch because...it was business. But this...was still business, just at his place.
“I promise to rescue you from any show drift incidents.”
“Well, how can I say no to that?” She grinned. Okay, she’d lose the blouse and go with something more comfortable at least. Not cute, she wasn’t out to score with her work partner, but if he found some mistletoe she wasn’t going to say no.
“I’ll put the kettle on. Oh, and how about you give me a ring when you get to the tube stop? It’s a bit of a hike down this way.”
They sorted out the address and the best route for Rashae to take before hanging up.
She shouldn’t be giddy about going to work with the man who was essentially her boss for this gig, but what the hell? It’d been a while since a man had caught her off-guard like this, and she had a good feeling about Declan.
Declan held the door to the cottage for Rashae. He’d put down a little extra salt on the walk before leaving. Just in case. As enjoyable as having her in his lap had been, he didn’t want to repeat the incident. For health reasons.
“This place—it’s amazing.” She peered through the windows out onto the snow-covered grounds. “How’d you score this?”
“Someone has to mow the grass and shovel the snow.” He shed his coat and hurried to throw another log on.
“I’d mow some grass to get a view like this. Seriously—it has to be amazing in the spring. All these trees...” Rashae followed him into the cottage.
“There’s about twenty acres to maintain.”
“Do you...do all of it? Or do you split it with someone?” She perched on the sofa, her bag still in her lap.
“I take care of the brute bit, the mowin’ and the tree trimmin’. They have a landscapin’ service that comes in to do the detail work up around the house. No sense in payin’ a service to do the harder bits. I shovel the walks this time of year, but the house is closed for the holidays.” It was honest, hard work he appreciated. A part of him had needed this in the beginning, to keep his learned habits in check, and now it was just...comfortable. “It is nice this time of year. All lit up and stuff. Want a drink? Somethin’ to eat?”
“I’m still full from lunch.”
“You hardly ate anythin’.”
“I’m saving up the cheat days for Christmas.”
“All right. You want anythin’, just say so. You want to set up in here? I’ll get out o’ your hair.”
Declan showed Rashae the kitchen with the long dining table and padded benches. The previous occupant had raised a family here before retiring, and much of the furniture showed their years. Still, it was the nicest place Declan had ever lived, and it was bigger than anything he’d ever need.
“Hey, what do you think about...this? Pretend this part is gray, that’s blue, and this is green.” She pulled out the same tablet, but this time the figure was different. Still female, but the sexualized curves were gone, as were the heels. This woman looked...fierce. Intimidating. Just what he’d envisioned.
“I like it. What if you...” He couldn’t think of the word. What was it? “Hold on.”
He passed the tablet back to her and grabbed the end of a roll of paper mounted against the wall. He pulled it down the length of the table, snagged a pencil from the kitchen counter and drew a little flourishing bit.
“Something, like a crest? Logo?”
“Faction crests?”
“Yeah, crests.”
“Well, it depends on how you want to divide the players. Is there a theme you have in mind?” Rashae tapped her stylus against her chin.
Damn, she was cute.
Last night, and at lunch, she’d dressed up her jeans and boots with frilly, pretty tops. The one at lunch had a bit of lace on it. Stuff he wouldn’t dare touch, for fear of snagging it. The thermal shirt under a tee with “The Woman” emblazoned across her chest was a dressed down version of her. He liked it.
The feathery thing she’d worn earlier had to be from the Sherlock show. The shirt was a clear throwback to the one person who’d captured the detective’s interest in more than just one way.
“Declan? You okay?”
“Sorry.” Fuck—he’d just sat here staring at her.
“Did you have faction themes in mind? Something to play off?”
“A few.” He crossed to a bookshelf that housed a few of his board games and was a catch-all area for other things. He snagged a notebook reserved for this project and took it back to the table.
Rashae scooted closer. Her shoulder brushed his, her curls tickled his cheek. He could smell the faint scent of...perfume? Something.
Fuck, he had to get this under control. He was a God damn fanboy about to lose his shit.
She was an amazing artist he was getting to work with.
That was what he had to focus on.
Not the way she smelled.
Or how soft her hand was when she took the pencil from him.
He couldn’t sit here like a loaf, mooning over her smile, even if he wanted to.
They had to get down to work. Ayan and John were pushing to debut the game in January so they could deliver before October and hit the Essen convention. Declan wasn’t as on-board with their timetable. There were samples to order, trial runs to be done. He had enough of these projects under his belt that he was fairly confident he could do it—if his clients were seasoned developers. He had less faith in John and Ayan to make the right decisions on time.
He’d meant to set Rashae up and leave her to her process, but he was caught in her web.
She asked him a question, he sketched his answer, either on the paper or her tablet, and she added to it, refining his thoughts and ideas, crafting them into something...beautiful. Better than he’d imagined. She was a true artist, where he only knew how to mimic. He made notes on where they could tweak the game mechanics to incorporate the design, and she gave him feedback on the gameplay from a completely new perspective. The only thing bringing him down was the nagging reminder that he hadn’t been as truthful with her as he wanted to be.
“That’s all four factions, with ideas for two additional ones, should they want to do an expansion, and the foundation for the cards, board, meeples and rule book.” Rashae powered down the tablet and stretched. “I’m starving. What’s a girl got to do to get something to eat around here?”
“All the lady has to do is ask.”
5.
D
> eclan pushed up from the table, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. They’d been at this for...hours. He’d only meant to sit there a moment.
“Any requests? I’ve probably got a few things I can heat up or order out?”
She chewed her lip a moment.
“Something small?” she asked.
She’d barely touched lunch. Now she wanted a nibble. It wasn’t any of his business, but he didn’t like the idea of her going hungry under his roof. Not when he could feed her a proper meal.
He crossed to the fridge and considered his options. Cooking wasn’t something he did well, but he got by on the simple stuff.
“I’m gonna do a fry.” He lay what he had out on the counter and grabbed a skillet.
“A...fry?” Rashae glanced over her shoulder from where she was looking over the spare game shelf.
“A fry. Breakfast? Everyone loves breakfast for dinner, right?”
“Do I even want to know how many calories are in that?” She eyed the white pudding and bacon on the counter.
“You don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”
“That—I’m sorry, that sounds pretty bitchy, doesn’t it?”
“It’s all right.”
“I am my daddy’s daughter.” She wandered to the other side of the island, hands in her pockets, staring at the counter. “My sister’s got our mother’s natural slender figure. I take after our dad’s side of the family.”
She lapsed into silence, her gaze unfocused. Wherever she was, it wasn’t here.
“There’s nothin’ wrong with that,” he said slowly. That was the right thing to say, wasn’t it? “No one died from eating bacon.”
“My aunt—dad’s sister—loved bacon. She lived with us growing up, in part because of her health issues and because Mom and Dad couldn’t afford a nanny. She died a few years ago. Heart disease. Mom sat Dad and I down after that and said she wouldn’t lose us, too.”
“That’s—I’m sorry.” Shit.
“I think of her when I see bacon. She used to make it every day.” Rashae’s smile was sad. She shook her head. “I’m being melodramatic, aren’t I? My friends ride my ass about it. Sorry. It’s just...the holidays.”
“Makes sense. You want me to not...?”
“No. Go ahead.” Rashae slid onto the stool across from him. “I can’t remember the last time I even let myself have bacon. Seems like the right thing to do, you know? Remember her and all.”
“Yeah.” He pushed the bacon and white pudding around the skillet. “You always remember the good things about family durin’ the holidays.”
“Shit. And I stick my foot in my mouth again.” She buried her face in her hands.
“It’s fine.” He chuckled. Yeah, the holidays weren’t his favorite times of year, but he still had a lot to be thankful for. Good times to remember. Eventually, Rashae would ask. Everyone did at some point.
“What is that?” She squinted at the skillet.
“This?” He rested the spatula on the pale side of the pudding.
“Yeah?”
“White puddin’.” He grinned. “Made it myself.”
“Do...I want to know?”
“It’s Irish. Oatmeal and sausage. Don’t worry, you don’t have to eat it.”
“Now I’m curious.”
He flipped the bacon and sausage.
At least the eggs were safe, right? People who watched what they ate liked them?
He cracked a few into the other skillet.
She didn’t say anything else for a bit, and unlike with some people, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. It was...nice. Pleasant even.
He hesitated plating the food. What if she really intended to simply nibble?
“Food’s done.” He set the last of the sausage and pudding on a napkin-covered-plate and stepped back. “Ladies first?”
“Okay, I’m too curious not to try this.” She slid off the stool, circled the island and accepted a plate.
Much to his surprise, she took an equal share of the bacon, a slice of the white pudding and a healthy portion of eggs. His mother, God bless her, was probably rolling over in her grave at the thought of him being a domestic-minded man like this. His old man would never have been caught dead cooking a meal. Growing up, this was the hen’s work.
He finished dishing out the food and got them both glasses of juice. They probably needed some coffee, but this late, it’d keep him up all night.
“Um, what about the table?” Rashae stood with a plate in one hand, glass in the other, staring at the paper-covered table.
“Let’s eat by the fire.”
“Is that okay?”
“That’s where I eat most of my meals.”
He led the way into the cozy living room. They set up trays and he put on an old Doctor Who Christmas special.
“This...is kind of amazing.” Rashae popped another piece of the pudding in her mouth. “A little weird, but I think I like it.”
“In moderation.”
She nodded, one hand covering her mouth.
They ate in companionable silence. It was strange how her presence...changed things. The cottage, normally a little dreary on chilly evenings, was different.
“What’s this?” Rashae wiped her hands on a napkin.
Oh...no...
His gaze jumped to the white box under the coffee table.
No...
She pulled out the battered sample game box and set it in her lap.
“Is it one of your crowd funding projects?” she asked.
“Uh, maybe...” Someday...
She lifted the box, revealing the components and his hand-written notes.
Fuck, why didn’t he keep that stupid thing somewhere else?
“I don’t recognize this one.” She picked up the pieces and squinted at the paper. “I thought I’d looked at all your projects...”
“It’s not finished.” He shoveled food into his mouth to keep from saying any more.
Rashae couldn’t make out all the words on the page. Declan had a cramped way of writing that wasn’t quite legible. And he used words that made no sense to her. Some kind of short hand? Irish speak?
She kind of wanted to watch Boondock Saints now.
“What is this?” The pieces were generic. Some had a bit of paint on them. She could recognize Declan’s sketches on some of the cardstock after watching him draw all afternoon.
“Nothin’. You finished with this?” He reached for her empty plate.
“Yes, thank you. That was delicious.” And loaded with calories, but she was so full she didn’t care. Tomorrow she’d be ultra careful, use the treadmill, something.
Declan took the dishes into the kitchen. She should help, but she was beginning to understand some of the instructions. It was hard to tell what was design direction and what was game process in places, but she was muddling it out.
“I was thinkin’ about the encounter cards—”
She patted his knee as he sat.
“What’s this word?”
“Don’t mind that.” He reached for the paper, but she moved first, holding it out to the side of the sofa.
“What is it?” She squinted at the page, then him.
“Just some extra parts.” Declan frowned at the paper as though he wanted it to burn.
It wasn’t just some extra parts. She knew that look. She got it anytime someone poked around in her studio. It was his. Something he was working on. And he wasn’t ready for it to be seen. She’d trespassed on his creativity.
“Okay.” She carefully put the page back in the box.
“It’s...a game I was tinkerin’ with.” He didn’t sound happy about admitting that bit.
“Cool. I’d like to see it when you’re done.” She fit the lid on the box.
Declan snagged the box from her lap and nudged the top off again.
“I don’t have it all worked out yet.” He rummaged around the bottom and pulled out a few sheets of white pap
er. The print was neater, bolder.
She scooted closer to look over his shoulder.
“I wanted to do a hybrid game.”
He started talking, explaining his thought process, what he wanted to accomplish. At first, he spoke slowly. Maybe because it was unfinished? Untried? Rashae hated showing off partially completed things, so she got it. The more time she kept her mouth shut, the easier Declan spoke. His accent got thicker and she had to concentrate on his words, but she could feel his excitement. The way he painted the picture of his vision, she could see it.
“I don’t have your talent, so these are shit.” He flipped through a few pages of sketches. The illustrations were rough, but conveyed enough of what he was picturing she could imagine it.
“You’re good, you just need more practice.” She stopped him at one point and pulled a page from between the rest. It was the box design. Bold, simple, she could see it on a shelf in her head. The finished product. A bit more flourish on the title, some detail work here and there, but she got it.
“It’s shit. I need to figure out the end game scoring and how to weigh all the components for victory points. Maybe after some play testin’ I’ll know if it’s worth sinkin’ more time into.” He took the page and fit it back between the rest.
“How’d you get into board games?” she asked.
“Uh...played a few growin’ up. Worked in a few game shops.” He shrugged.
There was more to the story, he just wasn’t telling her.
Declan fitted the top back on the box and slid it back onto the shelf on the coffee table.
She should scoot back over and stop crowding him, but he was so warm. Even with the fire going it was a touch chilly in the house. He settled against the cushions, one arm stretched out behind her.
“Dad used to beg Mom and Lily to play games. When he realized I actually liked playing with him and my aunt, I think it was the happiest day ever for him. And then Sam wanted to play, too. We started with the normal stuff, Monopoly, Scrabble, but someone gave him a copy of Settlers of Catan the year it won the Spiel des Jahres, and that was it. No more of these weird, American games. All we played were games that didn’t have English instructions. So, he was paying someone’s attaché to translate them for us.”
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 4
