Declan piddled away a few moments, washed his hands and slipped out. Maybe he could leave quietly? Was the distraction enough?
“We’re in here,” Rashae called out.
He winced, and given no other option, followed the sound of Rashae into a formal sitting room. The furniture was stately, and a bit stiff. Declan worried about getting the fabric dirty or tracking mud in, but he might as well be the only one. The girls had their feet curled up under them, and Timothy sat back in a wingback chair close to a fireplace.
Rashae patted the sofa next to her.
“Are you allowed to tell me about this game you’re working on?” Timothy folded his hands behind his head. Despite their surroundings, the girl’s father had an easy, approachable manner that Declan liked. There was enough of the old blood still in Declan that he was uncomfortable, given Mr. Grant was an important political figure, at no fault of anyone but himself.
“Dad, you can’t ask questions. It’s not ready yet.” Rashae wagged her finger at her father.
“Can you blame me for asking?” Timothy grinned. “Where’s home, Declan?”
“Near Dumbarton.”
“No, I mean home. Where are you from?”
“Ireland, sir, sorry.” Inwardly Declan groaned. Maybe if he’d had this conversation with Rashae already they wouldn’t be here now.
“Beautiful country. Never been, but the pictures are always so majestic. You going home for Christmas?”
Oh, no, no, no.
Rashae wanted to shove the words back in her father’s mouth. She didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to pick up on the very clear reading that Declan did not want to discuss family, Christmas or anything about the holidays.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks.” Declan gave her a tight smile, the strain showing around the corners of his mouth. She wanted to ease that strain, crazy as it sounded. “And no, Mr. Grant, I’ll be here for Christmas.”
“That’s too bad. There’s a lot of things to do around DC during the holidays, though. One of the nicest times of year, I think.” Dad’s gaze slid to her and he smiled. “We’ll be in Georgia. Probably a lot quieter here.”
“And that’s why we always have our secret weapon around.” Rashae grinned at Declan. “Most of the family goes running when we pull out a game.”
“What’s your favorite game of the year, Declan?”
“Scythe, hands down.”
“I don’t have that one.” Dad frowned a bit. “Do you, Shae?”
“I did. I got in on the Kickstarter.”
“Did you—”
“I did not bring it. It’s a big game, and I had a lot to pack.”
“Dang. You’ll have to come back and bring it, unless you can convince your friend to bring it over.” He nodded at Declan.
“You’re welcome to borrow it.” Declan was a dear, but there was no way she was taking that game to her family’s house. Too many pieces and too expensive for the likes of the crazy mob that would be there.
“Maybe.” She checked her watch. “It’s getting late and I think the weather said something about more snow. Declan—”
“Oh, you’re right. Thanks for lookin’ out for me.” He touched her knee, then stood. “Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure meetin’ you.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
He shook her father’s hand, and Rashae shoved her feet back into her boots.
There were some muttered goodbyes from her sister and father, then Rashae and Declan were outside. A few, orphan flakes of snow drifted down, making good on her warning. She waved off the bodyguards, always on watch.
“Oh...my God, I am so sorry about that.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, more than a little mortified.
“Nothin’ to be sorry about.”
“Uh, yeah there is. I know Sam didn’t mean to throw you under the bus like that, but...I’m sorry. She’s not really herself right now. Please don’t judge her based on tonight.” She stopped at his car and turned to face Declan. The exterior flood lights cast a pleasant glow on the sides of the house.
“Sounds like she’s got a big decision to make. Glad I was around to help.”
“Me, too.” Rashae was so very thankful for how much of a gentleman Declan could be. When Sam had texted...Rashae had panicked. But he hadn’t. “Again, sorry you got roped into all this.”
“Not a bother.”
Her stomach did a little flip-flop. He was looking at her like...earlier. His crystal-blue eyes were so sharp, so vivid in the darkness, and she had no doubt what he was looking at.
She bit her lower lip before she could stop herself and they both sucked in a breath. She could almost feel the memory of his mouth on hers.
“About earlier...” She said slowly, not sure where to start, except it needed to be said.
“Fuckin’...” Declan glanced away, the moment gone. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Kissed me?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t have. I...I’m a first-rate creeper.”
“Uh...not what I was going to say.”
He turned to look at her again, one eye screwed up as though his words were painful. “I’ve had you fooled,” he said.
“How so?” she asked slowly. The warm, fuzzy feeling went as cold as a lump of coal in her stocking.
“I’m a fuckin’ fanboy.” Declan shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You...are?” A fanboy about what? She wasn’t going to begrudge him his things but...what did this have to do with her?
“Yes, it’s why—when I had the chance—I asked you to join the project. I figured...aim high.”
“Wait—you’re my fanboy?” Rashae blinked at him and felt as though her world were tilting a bit.
“What do you think I meant?”
“I don’t know...”
“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, paced away from her, then back again. “See? Now I’ve made this weird. I admired your artwork, and I dug around, what else does she do? Oh—she’s the costume person I follow on Instagram.”
Rashae’s snicker turned into a laugh. Okay, so not a real-creeper, like her friend Miranda’s stalker. Rashae had a few that made her consider restraining orders, and Declan was not that guy.
“Is this so fuckin’ funny?”
“Yes!” She wiped at her eyes.
“I’m tellin’ you I stalk you on Instagram and you...laugh?”
“Oh, honey, I’ve seen stalkers—real ones—and you are not it.”
“What?” Declan went predator-still.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Did somethin’ happen?”
“Not to me. Two of my friends had...guy issues that turned into messy situations. Not me. But it did give me a front row seat to what crazy looks like, and you are not it.”
“I tell you I follow you on Instagram, and your reply is I’m not crazy enough?”
“Yeah?” She shrugged.
Declan...prowled forward a few steps.
“You are obviously familiar with my career, and it’s not like I’m shy putting myself out there. I’m flattered you like what I do.” She shivered and shoved her hands in her pockets. Damn it was cold. “You can be my fanboy if you want.”
Heck, she was well-acquainted with his list of successful crowd funding projects. He was board-game-geeky, hot and kissed like...her knees went weak just thinking about his mouth.
“And about earlier?” he asked.
“Which earlier?”
His gaze slid over her shoulder, and he rocked back on his heels.
She glanced over her shoulder. Sam and Lily stood in the window.
Great.
Rashae flipped them the bird.
Lily rolled her eyes and Sam wiggled her middle finger right back at her, then pushed Lily away.
“We’re adults.” She squared her shoulders and directed her attention back at Declan. “We kissed. It was nice.”
“Nice?” His brows lif
ted, and his lids lowered until his gaze smoldered.
Rashae swallowed. He’d looked at her that way last night. When she’d fallen and he’d caught her. Had he wanted to kiss her then? She wouldn’t have minded if he had. Maybe the meeting would have gone better.
Declan took a step toward her, the look on his face downright menacing.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.” His voice was lower, rougher, and she was in over her head.
The truth was, she talked a good game, but when it came to guys, she’d always let them down easy or passed them on to one of the other girls. She was too busy...too focused...too...what was she thinking again?
Declan’s fingers slid along her jaw until his palm cupped her cheek.
If he kissed her like earlier...the snow would melt. She’d become a puddle on the cobblestone drive. Someone would have to mop her up.
His lips whispered against hers, a barely-there kiss, so soft and gentle maybe she’d imagined it. She leaned into the touch.
“Goodnight, Miss Grant. Watch out for snow drifts.”
He let go of her, backed up and pulled the driver’s door open. By the time he pulled out of the drive, she’d at least remembered how to breathe.
7.
D
eclan finished the morning shoveling, despite the historical house being closed for Christmas week. He didn’t have to do it, but letting the snow pile up meant harder work later. Plus, it got him outside and moving, his mind off...everything else.
He’d woken up to two emails.
The first was from John and Ayan, who were still having doubts about Rashae and the new artistic direction for the game. Out of desperation, he’d snapped a few pictures of the papers they’d drawn up and sent them off in lieu of digital files. He needed to buy Rashae some time. Just a bit. Once she had something finished, it would blow their minds. He was certain of it. But the guys were pressing for immediate results.
The second message was from his sponsor, another Irish Traveler immigrant like himself. They were vaguely related, fourth cousins or something like that. The email was terse, clarifying the dates for the naturalization and final steps of the process. Declan had the impression that his sponsor was ready to be done with the process and have Declan out of his life.
It was much the same way the few remaining relatives he knew of felt about him.
After what’d happened, the fire, all of it, his world had fallen apart. He’d wanted something different, so he’d gone after it. And lost the anchor of who he was. The trade off was this journey to find out who he was now.
The problem was, these days...he wasn’t sure what or who Declan was.
A caretaker.
A game peddler.
Alone.
But then again, he’d always been alone. Different from the rest. And in a Traveler society, different wasn’t embraced.
He stashed the snow blower in the shed and turned the collar on his coat up, tucking the scarf in a bit more.
From here on out, he had no plans for the holidays besides attending mass. He needed to grab some groceries, stock his pantry in preparation for his usual take-out options to be closed. Perhaps he should have looked into a trip. Or something.
He rounded the hedges, wrapped in their winter garments, and stopped short.
Someone was walking toward his cottage, down the little gravel drive.
He squinted. Some lost soul? Whoever they were, they got to his front door first, one hand up.
“Oi, lookin’ for someone?” Declan called out.
They turned.
The jacket was different.
The boots were, too.
But the face was the same.
What the hell?
Declan picked up the pace. It was too treacherous to jog, so for several, long minutes she watched him trudge closer.
“What are you doin’ here? Get inside before you catch a cold.” He unlocked the door and ushered Rashae inside.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” she said by way of an explanation.
“I didn’t know I needed it on me.” He stared down at her, the little fur lining her hood covered in frosty bits. “In. In.”
He crowded her into the living room and tossed on a few more logs.
“I’m sorry, it’s Sam. And Oliver. And... I just needed a place to crash for a few hours while they work out this whole engagement thing.” Rashae sighed and sat down on the sofa, hands burrowed into her pockets, shoulders hunched.
“You walked all the way here?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuckin’ hell. It’s cold out.” He grabbed a throw blanket and dragged it over her shoulders. “You should have...you called, didn’t you?”
“Not that long ago. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. You—warm up. It’s colder than a witch’s teat out there.”
Of all the crazy things to do.
“If you have something going on, I can go...somewhere else.” Rashae followed him into the kitchen, the throw blanket from the sofa wrapped around her shoulders.
“You’re fine. I wish I’d had my phone on me. What’s your sister’s deal now?” And why was she letting Rashae walk around in freezing cold weather?
Rashae slid onto the stool across from him and rolled her eyes.
“She talked and cried to me last night. I heard her in my bathroom on the phone with Oliver after I went to bed. And then this morning she dragged me out to go shopping, which was really just more talking in circles about it until Oliver called and she wanted to go see him. If there is a God out there, he will put a ring on her finger and this will all be over.”
Rashae leaned forward and thunked her head against the counter.
“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He braced his hands on the island.
“Me? Or Sam?” Rashae straightened and shook her head, her curls dancing around her face.
“It must run in the family.”
“Shut up, you.” She glared at him, but her smile was amused. “While I’m here, I did a thing. You can hate it, but I had to do something while Sam was talking in circles.”
Rashae pulled her tablet out of her tote, powered it on and turned the screen toward him.
He stared at the digital sketch. Bits were colored in, but by and large it was lines. Shapes. To someone else it might be nothing but...this was his.
His game.
The random ideas of an untalented hand...turned into something more. Better.
“I wouldn’t normally show something so incomplete, but since you didn’t ask me to and you might not—”
“That’s—amazing.” He zoomed in on one bit she’d detailed.
“You like it? I know you didn’t ask me to, but she was going on and on and I had to do something. You don’t have to like it.”
“Rashae—this is beautiful.”
“It’s not done. Don’t get all gushy on me yet. You could still hate it.”
“I’ve never hated anythin’ of yours yet.”
“All right, fanboy.”
The kettle began to whistle. He handed the tablet back, pulled the pot off the stove and set about making two cups of hot chocolate with a dash of whiskey in them, because why the hell not?
He slid the drink over to Rashae and kept the island between them. After last night, he didn’t trust himself when she was near. He’d come very close to pushing her up against the car and kissing her with an audience. That unsettled him, especially after the unbidden memories from his past.
“Can I ask you a totally personal, nosey question?” She stirred the brew, eyes on the marshmallows floating at the top.
“Depends, can I ask you one?”
“Sure?” She shrugged.
“Shoot.”
Rashae leaned forward and put her elbows on the counter. Her eyes finally landed on him, burrowing down deep.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said yes...
“Why are you working so hard to make someone
else’s game, when yours sounds just—if not more—cool?”
“Don’t pull your punches, do you?” He sipped from his mug.
“You don’t have to answer.” She picked up her cup and blew across the top.
“I’m not...satisfied with it yet. I need to figure out a few things at the end, then play test it some more. I’d like to go to the Board Game Geek convention next November. Give her a whirl there.”
“That’s...a year away. You could be done with this after a little work shopping it.”
“I don’t have the kind of money to throw at it, as most of these other guys do.” He leaned against the stove behind him. “Besides, I’d rather not call on what connections I have. I want...I want the game to succeed on its own merit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a helping hand.”
“I didn’t—that’s not what I mean.”
“You want to have a tried and true product to bring to market. I get it. I’m just not that patient.” She grinned. “That’s why you’re the boss.”
“Guess so.”
“Did you talk to John and Ayan again?”
There was a mood killer. What could he tell her? Some part of the truth.
“What’s that face for?” she asked.
“I...don’t know really. I’ve just...I’m getting’ a bad feelin’ about those two. You know, most of the people I work with, they love games. We spend half our meetin’s talkin’ about what games we played this week, what we are hungry to get our hands on. These guys...” He shrugged. “They don’t get it.”
“You said they weren’t really gamers.”
“And they aren’t. I shouldn’t be surprised we have different opinions about how this should be handled. I just...wish they would let me do my job. Most projects aren’t micromanaged like this one is.”
“That sucks. I’m thankfully at a place where I can turn down clients who want daily check-in’s.” Rashae shuddered. “Had too many of those.”
“I guess...most of us, yeah, we wanna make a great game and earn a buck doin’ it. These guys...they don’t care like most of my clients do. I want to be more excited about their project, it’s got nifty mechanics but...”
“Well, that’s why they need you. You’re going to bring the wow factor to the campaign. It’ll be awesome.”
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 6
