“Hi, Rae,” Mike greets her, his voice warm as he approaches. He leans in to kiss my cheek.
I smile in response, the brief touch of his lips sending a flutter of warmth through me.
“Do you want me to warm up dinner?” he offers, his gaze meeting mine with a hint of affection.
“That would be great, thank you,” I reply.
I seize the opportunity to show Rae around. With a light bounce in my step, I hop off the stool.
Rae and I step into the game room. The vibrant energy of the space envelops us with the sound of darts hitting the board. Nate and Cain are engrossed in a game of darts, their competitive spirits evident in the focused expressions on their faces.
Rae’s admiration for the house prompts a bittersweet pang in my chest, a reminder of my nan’s death. I smile, grateful for her kind words even as they stir conflicting emotions within me.
Cain’s approach interrupts my thoughts, his arm encircling my waist. His lips meet mine in a tender kiss. I return the gesture with a gentle smile.
“Dinner will be ready soon. Mike’s warming it up,” I inform Cain.
Nate takes the opportunity to engage Rae in a game of darts, passing her a set of darts with a playful smirk. She accepts the challenge with a confident smirk, striding up to the dartboard with determination.
With a flick of her wrist, she releases the dart, only to watch it sail wide of the mark, missing the board entirely. Nate can’t help but scoff at her attempt, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Rae passes me the darts, her playful challenge sparking a competitive fire within me. With a determined expression, I step up to the mark, the weight of the darts familiar in my hand.
I focus on the target, blocking out the distractions around me as I take aim. With a swift motion, I release the dart.
I hear the satisfying thud of the dart hitting the board. My heart racing with excitement as I realize I hit the bullseye.
“Yay!” I shout, unable to contain my excitement as I leap up and down.
Cain’s voice interrupts my celebration, his sarcastic tone piercing through the air. I watch as he approaches the dartboard, retrieving the dart with a wry smile.
“Well done. However, it’s better if you hit a triple twenty. You score more. Well done for hitting the middle of the board, though,” he remarks, his words laced with playful teasing.
I scowl at him, sticking my tongue out and raising my middle finger. As the tension melts away, I can’t help but grin.
Mike’s call for dinner echoes through the house. Cain’s hand intertwines with mine, leading the way out of the room. Nate and Rae trail behind us as we make our way to the kitchen, curiosity tingling in the air.
Upon reaching the kitchen, the dishes on the island resemble something out of a culinary experiment gone awry. Nate’s face drops and his smile vanishes.
“What is that?” Rae asks, her voice betraying her apprehension as she asks the question on all our minds.
“Did you warm it up correctly, Mike?” I ask, my stomach churning with uncertainty.
Mike’s response, a sheepish scratch of his head, did little to ease our concerns. “Yeah. I think it’s some kind of beef in a sauce.”
“Let’s just order some pizzas,” Cain says.
“I would feel bad,” I admit reluctantly, “Amara made this for us.”
Rae’s blunt assessment delivers a mixture of amusement and disbelief, “Tess, it does look like cat food,” she remarks, punctuating the air with a touch of humor.
I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I mumble, my reluctance evident in my tone.
The atmosphere around the table is relaxed and our bellies are comfortably full of pizza. The clink of glasses and the sound of laughter fill the air. I find myself reaching for my third glass of wine while Rae is already on her fourth.
Cain’s hand finds its place on my thigh. His glass of whisky sits nearby, its amber contents reflecting the warm glow of the room as he takes measured sips.
Nate’s sudden proposal injects new energy into the gathering. He produces a deck of cards with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Who’s up for some poker?” he challenges, his smirk infectious.
Rae’s response was immediate, her enthusiasm evident in her words. “Fuck it,” she declares.
“Are we playing for real money?” Mike asks, his tone betraying a hint of caution.
“No! We can play with fake poker chips,” I propose, eager to maintain the evening’s lighthearted spirit.
We all straighten up in our chairs, anticipation mounting as Nate begins to deal out the cards. I pour myself another glass of wine.
As the cards fall before me, a grin tugs at the corners of my lips. Six of clubs and five of clubs stare back at me, their modest value sparking excitement.
Nate reveals the first three cards, each sparking a flurry of calculations and strategizing among us. An ace of hearts, an eight of spades, and my six of clubs lay splayed across the table, their presence setting the stage for the unfolding drama.
Quickly assessing my hand, I noted the potential for a pair.
Mike’s raise injects a new level of intensity into the game, his boldness prompting a moment of deliberation among us. With a shared glance and a silent understanding. We each affirmed our commitment to the hand, our chips meeting Mike’s wager with determined resolve.
