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"Do you want to forfeit now?" I asked.
He took a deep breath and glanced at the page. "Shit."
"Admittedly, you are at an academic disadvantage. You're an MBA student. You drafted a very persuasive offer. However, it lacked the attention to detail that the Victorian Lit grad could bring to the task."
He tapped the paper. "Pretty sure the Victorians weren't doing this."
"Oh, they were. They even wrote about it. Those just weren't the books they gave you in high school."
He picked up the page. Skimmed it. Set it down again. Groaned.
"You can forfeit now," I said. I checked my watch. "Our room at the inn will be ready shortly. I'll just need a few minutes to pick up the necessary props."
"Fuck."
"Is that a yes?"
Another skim of the pages. He inhaled. Then he squared his shoulders and folded the paper in quarters.
"Yeah, sorry, but if I say yes to this"--he tapped the note--"the noise alone will get us kicked out, and there isn't another vacancy in town."
"True."
I reached to take the page back, but he put it into his pocket. "Keeping it. Possibly laminating it."
I chuckled. "Well, the offer stands, whenever you wish to forfeit. And in the meantime, since it is indeed checkin time, might I suggest another game? One that won't quite achieve the end result we're both looking for. But it will build up an appetite for the eventual meal."
He motioned for me to go on. I leaned over to tell him, but he handed me the pen instead.
"Write it down," he said. "I'm starting a scrapbook."
Five - Ricky
"I'm so sorry," the innkeeper said. "I know checkin is at four, but your room isn't ready."
Ricky's first thought was to confirm that this was indeed the only local place with a vacancy. Well, no, his first thought was of the second page tucked into his pocket, the one outlining Liv's proposal for predinner amusement. Then, on thinking of that, he wanted to know if there was another room in town, preferably close by. Very close by.
Liv beat him to it with, "Is there another room? Any room?"
"There's a small one on the first floor, but it doesn't have the view or a balcony."
; Ricky was about to say, "We'll take it." Then he saw the relief on Liv's face. She opened her mouth, and he knew "We'll take it" was coming.
"Nah," he said. "We'll wait."
Liv turned on him with a look. "Excuse--"
"I know you really wanted the view and the balcony. We can wait. Well, I can. If you can't . . ." He pointed to her bag where she'd stashed her own "penalty." Her lips tightened. Her eyes narrowed. But those green eyes danced too, granting him a point well earned, even as she mouthed, "Bastard."
She turned to the innkeeper. "We'll wait. How long until our room is ready?"
"Less than an hour, and I have fresh oatcakes and the kettle on for tea. I am, really, very sorry. I know this looks terrible. One of our girls is unexpectedly off this week. She"--the innkeeper lowered her voice--"lost her baby."
"Lost it?" said a voice behind them.
Ricky turned to see a woman working at a small desk with a calculator and ledger. She had to be in her sixties. Native American--no, Native Canadian, he corrected. She wore jeans and a concert T-shirt, her graying dark hair braided back, and on a closer look, she might have been older than he'd thought, the outfit giving her a youthful air, her strong voice adding to that impression.
