“Oh, I don’t lose,” I reply, placing the cards down. “I let others win out of the goodness of my heart.”
She scoffs, “Is that what happened during Scrabble?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Hey now, it was a draw, and no winners were confirmed.”
“Only because this big guy,” she reaches out to rub on Angus, who is resting his head on her lap again, “saved you from certain defeat.”
“A man’s best friend always has his back,” I murmur as I deal the cards. “Shall we?” I ask.
“You’re on.” She gives me a serious game face.
I reach over and stab a marshmallow onto a skewer, holding it over the fire. “Do you like your marshmallows burnt on the outside or lightly toasted?”
“You’re only postponing the inevitable, detective.”
“Pregame snack.”
She mimics my move with one of her own. “All right. I like mine somewhere right in the middle. Heavily toasted but not burnt. Just enough that you can remove the crunchy layer to eat.”
“I’m going all burnt, baby, just like my steaks,” I tease.
“Well-done steak?” she questions. “That is a travesty.”
“Let me guess, you like yours still mooing?”
“Pretty close. I want all those amazing, flavorful juices flowing. Though, it’s been a while since I had a steak worth remembering. Even great chefs now cover it in gravy or a sauce—not my thing.”
“You don’t like gravy?” I ask, shocked.
“No. If you need to cover a great piece of meat in all that stuff, you have to be trying to hide something,” she grumbles with a horrified look on her face.
“You’re very passionate about this.” I pull the marshmallow from the fire, put it on a graham cracker and chocolate, and pop it into my mouth. I hum as the warm, fluffy sweetness melts onto my tongue. “Seriously, is there anything better than s’mores on a cold night?”
I watch her delicately remove hers from the skewer and bite down on it. Her eyes close as she savors the sweet treat. “You are so right.”
“Wow, I didn’t think I would ever hear those words fromyou,” I tease.
“Call it my Christmas gift to you.”
“Well, aren’t you generous?”
She nudges me, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t push it, Harrington, or I might reconsider.”
“Noted,” I mutter. “Okay, back to this game.” I level Jane with a direct gaze. “I’m ready to obliterate you and have the perfect strategy to get a win in my column.”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” she says with mock shivering as she picks up her cards. “But I’m still going to beat you.”
“Let’s up the stakes…loser has to cook dinner tonight?”
Jane’s eyes light up with challenge. “Deal.”
The game is intense. We both have our strategies, and there’s no shortage of competitive banter as we play our hands. Her quick wit matches mine, punch for punch, and I find myself grinning despite the cutthroat game.
A burst of movement catches my attention, and I turn to see Angus darting off with a bag of marshmallows in his mouth. I quickly pivot and lunge for the treats, but Angus expertly evades my grasp. Jane launches over me to rescue the bag from the dog slobber.
“Victorious,” she declares triumphantly, waving the bag above her head.
Angus growls playfully at Jane as if reprimanding her for attempting to steal his prize.
