Page 157 of The Games We Play
I collapsed into my desk chair with a sigh that came straight from my soul. Every muscle in my body went limp, my arms dangling over the sides like I’d just run a marathon instead of managing chaos for eight hours straight. My office was quiet, blessedly so, and I could finally breathe.
There had to be a full moon coming. Either that or the end-of-year madness had taken full control. School let out next week, and the kids were basically feral. One student tried to eat a crayon today. AMacaroni and Cheese-colored crayon, no less, because he thought it would taste like pasta. That was the final straw. I fled to my office before I said something I’d regret.
Outside, summer was settling in like a hot breath on the back of my neck. Spring was officially saying goodbye, and Texas wasn’t wasting any time bringing the heat.
I sat up straighter, shaking off the exhaustion, when I noticed something resting across my keyboard.
A single red rose.
My breath caught.
I was so distracted by my thoughts that I didn’t notice it until now.
I reached for it gently, twirling the stem between my fingers. Its petals were velvet-soft, a perfect bloom of deep red, so vibrant it almost didn’t look real.
Attached to the stem with a piece of twine was a small folded note. I carefully untied it and opened it, heart skipping even before I read the first word.
Penelope,
I put together a scavenger hunt for you. I’ll be waiting at the end. Read each clue carefully.
Your first stop: the place to go when you were having a rough day. They’re always consistent and the only spot in Faircloud that has your favorite kind of this food.
—Mac
I pressed the note to my chest, a smile tugging at my lips, and let out a soft laugh. A scavenger hunt? For me? With Mac waiting at the end?
My heart swelled, full and warm. This was his Hail Mary. His big gesture.
Leaving everything behind except my phone and keys, I slipped out of my office and through the library, weaving past coworkers and curious glances without stopping. The front doors of the building opened to a golden horizon—the sun was setting, casting honey-colored light across the pavement—and the warmth wrapped around me like encouragement.
I already knew the answer to his first clue.
There was only one place in Faircloud that served my favorite comfort food. One place that never failed to lift my spirits when I was low.
The little Italian restaurant just a few doors down Main Street.
As I walked, I thought of the time Mac showed up at my place unannounced and filled my fridge with groceries and a container of chicken parmesan.
Thoughtful. Generous. Always paying attention.
That was Mac.
I reached the restaurant and pulled open the door, greeted instantly by the smell of roasted garlic, basil, and marinara. Soft Italian music floated through the air, and the lights inside were low, casting everything in a cozy, golden glow.
The hostess at the front counter smiled knowingly.
Without a word, she ducked behind the counter and came back up holding another red rose—and a white to-go container.
I smiled and offered a heartfelt “thank you” before stepping back out into the warm evening air. On the sidewalk, I paused to unfold the next note that was tucked beneath the rose’s petals.
Penelope,
Go to the place where we danced for the first time. It’s familiar. Completely you. It’s also where you burned the breadsticks and tried to blame me…
—Mac
A laugh bubbled up in my chest.
