Page 9 of The Fall

Now I’m the one getting ahead of myself. I deflect with humor.

“Did you want me to wear the Dwight costume on our date? It seems to be working for you.”

He laughs. “Pass. Just come as yourself.” He brushes a soft kiss onto my forehead and I inwardly swoon. “Does this mean you’ll finally give me your number?”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re finally doing this. A real date.”

“A real date. But you know my schedule is complicated with my boys, and you travel--”

He silences me with a finger on my lips. “We’ll figure it out, Cam.”

I nod, his decisiveness and certainty sending a thrill straight to my heart. Waiting nearly a year to accept a date was something I chose for me and it had nothing to do with any specific man. But it feels pretty amazing to know that Rowan is still here. And he still wants me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rowan

“Checkmate.”

I lower my brows and study the chess board, then sigh heavily. Arthur’s right—he checkmated me in less than five minutes.

“Again,” I say, moving my pieces back to their original places on the board.

It’s the day after Dom and Tess’s Halloween party, and I’m still buzzing from Cam agreeing to a date. I haven’t told Dom, and I’m not looking forward to him finding out about it. He made his feelings about me dating Cam crystal clear.

“You’re a sucker for punishment, kid.” Arthur’s eyes gleam as he reaches for his queen, his hand trembling slightly.

At age eighty-two, he’s wrinkled and stooped, with just a few white hairs remaining on top of his head. His eyes, though, could still be twenty. A pale-blue shade, they light up with mischief when he cracks a joke and darken when he’s pissed off.

I never would’ve thought that when I was twenty-nine years old, one of my closest friends would be a grouchy Vietnamveteran who kicks my ass at chess every time we see each other, but here we are. Arthur and I met last year when I was doing mandatory volunteer service hours Mila requires from her players. When my weekly visits to the nursing home ended, I kept coming back to see Arthur. I always bring my dog, Duke, and all the residents and nurses love him.

“Do you remember what I told you about castling?” Arthur peers at me over the dark rim of his glasses, still lining his pieces back up.

“Only do it if it puts my king in a more protected place.”

“Yet you did it anyway.”

I shrug. “I play chess like I play hockey.”

He scoffs. “If that’s the case, how the hell do you still have a job?”

I reach over to help him set up his pawns and he bats my hand away. Shaking my head, I look down at my golden retriever, who is lying on the floor by my feet.

“Can you believe this guy, Duke? He doesn’t want me to listen to my gut.”

Duke, who at age thirteen is a lot less concerned with the world around him than he used to be, doesn’t react. Arthur laughs, which leads to a coughing fit.

I stand up and get him a cup of water from the dispenser in the corner. Passing it to him, I say, “Hey, don’t knock this out of my hand, old man.”

He takes the paper cup and downs all the water in it, muttering his thanks. Then he clears his throat.

“Your gut doesn’t know how to play chess, Rowan. You need to be more disciplined about the strategy I taught you.”

“Isn’t it counterintuitive to use the plays you taught me against you? You’ll see ’em coming.”

“You’re right. Keep playing the same dumbass way you always do. I like my 142–0 record.”