Page 64 of Beyond the Cottage

“I’m not playing cards with you.”

“Pity. I’m weary of trouncing Ansel and was hoping for fresh blood.”

“I’m sure you were.”

A raccoon waddled out of the sitting room and toyed with Gretta’s boot laces. She hopped down to scratch the pudgy beast behind the ears. As Ansel and Isobel began some game, Gretta slouched against the counter.

Soon, the wine did its job warming her stomach and relaxing the tension in her muscles. After pouring herself a second glass, she topped off Ansel when he held his cup out, and she took the opportunity to spy on his cards.

Gretta immediately recognized the game. Ansel laid a pair of threes on the table, and she snorted.

“Stop looking at my hand,” he said. “It’s impolite to poke your nose in a game you lack the mettle to play yourself.”

“Clever tactic, but you don’t want to play cards with me. I’d embarrass you.”

He drew a queen and a seven. “Boasting generally signifies a low mastery of said activity. Maybe it’s better if you don’t join us, after all.”

A competitive spark combined with the alcohol in Gretta’s belly, lighting a fire in her. His comments were a cheap ploy to get her to play, but she suddenly couldn’t think of an excuse why she shouldn’t back up her bluster.

She took her seat. “Deal me in next round.”

Ansel smirked behind his cup, and she made a face at him.

“We’ll start a fresh one,” Isobel said, swiping cards into a pile. “Our boy here was about to get clobbered.”

“You’re competitive to a fault, Izz. I let you win to preserve your fragile ego.”

“I’ll just bet you do. Let’s see it, then. I’m sure Gretta’s got more sense than to love a man who’s incompetent at cards.”

“Isobel!” he barked.

Gretta felt her cheeks go up in flames. The witch likely pushed their buttons out of strategy, but her comment sucked the oxygen from the room.

Maybe Gretta had drunk too much wine. Or not enough.

She took a sip and crossed her legs, feigning nonchalance. “You aren’t going to throw us off our game, witch. Deal.”

Grinning, Isobel tossed cards at them.

They played several rounds, and Ansel proved a more capable player than the last game suggested, staying neck and neck with Gretta for second place. Isobel maintained the lead, cheerfully announcing the score at every opportunity.

Ansel dealt a new hand. Gretta jostled her leg. On her fourth turn, she fanned a trio of sixes on the table.

Isobel played three jacks.

“You know,” the witch said, “we can play something else, if you like. I think I have an Old Maid deck laying around.”

Gretta nearly snapped the handle off her teacup. She’d begun to wonder if the cards were enchanted, but they radiated no magic. For some reason, the witch’s skill was more annoying than a tampered deck. Even Ansel’s lips thinned when Isobel commented on a man’s card play reflecting his talents in bed.

Once again, Gretta drew shitty cards and almost crushed them in her fist. Then something brushed her knee.

While pretending to study his hand, Ansel offered her a king under the table. Usually, Gretta would rather lose than cheat, but fuck Isobel. She took the card and gave him one in return.

They continued their sleight of hand, peeking at what each other had and offering what each other needed. Eventually, Gretta took the lead, and Ansel closed in on second.

Isobel side-eyed them. “My. It seems lady luck finally smiled on you two.”

“Seems so.” Gretta slapped three queens down, winning the hand.

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