The Love Game

  Sheryl Nantus

  Tales from The Thirsty Meeple

  The Love Game

  Copyright 2021, Sheryl Nantus

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  Cover Art & Formatting by Victoria Wright, Publishing Wright

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

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  The Thirsty Meeple is not a real place, nor are any of the games named within.

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  Please do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  The Love Game

  Kathleen's last published story is going to be about a gaming pub - a fluff piece about people playing board games and hanging out at a fun place. But when she finds out the owner is a former boyfriend, the simple story becomes much more complicated...

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  Jake dreamed about owning his own business - The Thirsty Meeple is what he's always wanted, a place for gamers to come and hang out, have a drink, and relax among friends. But he never dreamed about Kathleen walking through the front door and reigniting the passion he thought he'd put away forever.

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  Now it's her move...

  Contents

  The Love Game

  Also by Sheryl Nantus

  Monday - Rolling the Dice

  About the Author

  Connect with Sheryl

  Running from Royalty

  Sheryl’s Backlist & Series Order

  The Love Game

  You have got to be kidding me.

  Kathleen Horner looked up at the two-story house in front of her, set right at the intersection of King Street and Triller, a small residential side street. On the porch roof, two wire reindeer appeared to be copulating, Hawaiian shirts pulled over the warped white frames. The lawn was nice and trimmed, the rose bushes around the edges of the building just beginning to bloom. A few brown patches showed foot traffic outside the lines—not surprising, given the clientele. The stone path led up to a small porch where a giant meeple, the generic human-like figure wearing a pirate hat, stood by the front door.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  She had been to Rome, Syria, Nigeria... now she was in Toronto to write a puff piece about a gaming pub.

  But not just any gaming pub.

  Her mouth went dry as Jake Woodworth opened the front door and walked out. He stopped on the porch and waved to her, grinning. The black t-shirt was tight on his muscular frame, with a smaller version of the meeple set on the left breast pocket.

  He cocked his head to one side, the streaks of white at his temples a stark contrast to his black hair. The beard was new, sprinkled with white and gray—neatly cropped and adding an air of wisdom to his appearance.

  Steeling herself, Kat marched up the path and onto the porch. It took a concentrated effort to keep from brushing a stray blond strand of hair out of her face, the urge to tuck it behind her ear almost overwhelming.

  "Kat!" Jake beamed as he took hold of her hands. "So glad it's you doing the story." He stepped back and swept one arm out. "Welcome to The Thirsty Meeple! Come on in—we don't open for an hour."

  She couldn't help but be impressed by the stained glass set into the front door—the beautiful multi-faced twenty-sided die surrounded by other game tokens. Pausing for a moment, she pulled out her phone and took a picture.

  "Specially-commissioned piece," he said proudly, seeing her reaction. "Cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it. Local artist as well—I'll give you her info for the article; make sure she gets credit." He gestured at the cloudy sky. "Looks like we're due for a little spring rain. Good time for a drink."

  Kat walked into the house, her stomach now officially a butterfly conservatory.

  Of all the gin joints...

  He pushed the thoughts away as he held the front door open for her, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him.

  It was hard—she wore a light blue blouse and a black skirt, showing just enough leg to remind him of what lay underneath. It'd be so easy to fall back into old routines, reach out and touch her, move in for a kiss…

  Except that was in the past. Where it belonged.

  The front room was empty with the tables and chairs already set up for the lunch rush. He led her to the bar, moving behind it to give himself some distance.

  He suspected they both needed a little space.

  "Drink?" Jake braced his hands on the varnished wood, smiling as she settled on a stool.

  She raised an eyebrow. "It's barely ten o'clock."

  "We open at eleven. Got coffee, tea, soft drinks... flavored water, if you want—not everyone who comes in wants something alcoholic, and we have our share of designated drivers."

  Kat put her purse on the floor. "Let's start with coffee."

  "Fair enough. Get you all caffeinated up." He prepared her drink with a dash of creamer; a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.

  She picked up the ceramic mug and took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened as she smacked her lips in obvious pleasure. "Wow. You remembered."

  "Of course." Jake picked up a dishtowel and began to polish the glasses, keeping his hands occupied. It was too tempting to reach over and touch her long, blond hair—break it free of the tight, professional bun at the back of her head.

  He forced himself to speak, pushing the thought away. "So, how did you end up back in Toronto? Last time I saw your byline, you were in Paris."

  "A story's a story." She straightened up, the shift from personal to professional showing. "This is an interesting one. And you know I like the interesting ones." Kat looked around, studying the old board games and pictures stapled and glued to the walls.

  "This?" Jake poured himself a soft drink. "Just a bar, like all the other bars in the city. Some local beers, some rather odd decorations, but..."

  "A pair of reindeer are fucking on the roof."

  He chuckled. "I'm sure you can find other bars with even more exotic displays. If you want, I can give you a list."

  Kat nodded. "I'm sure you can. But this one... this one is different. I did my research. Local guy decides to renovate the house into a bar, gets it rezoned and puts all his money into the business. But it's just another bar, so it ends up failing. You and your partner pick it up for a song and the rest, as they say, is history. Hundreds of followers on Twitter, Facebook, videos on all types of social media." She eyed him over the rim of her mug. "Catering to a growing subculture, people who play games."

  "All types of games." He couldn't help but fall back on his spiel, expertly crafted over the years. "Shelves upstairs stocked with over five hundred games for our patrons to borrow, and specific days of the week dedicated to certain types." Jake nodded at the chalkboard mounted on the wall, the colorful lines marking out each day's specialty. "Monday, board games. Tuesday, card games. Wednesday, role-playing..." He fell silent. "But you're aware of all this already. You did your research."

  Kat sipped her coffee, giving him a smile.

  "In that case, what can I tell you that you don't already know?"

  "Why this?" She raised her mug, gesturing at the wall. "After high school, you had a good job, a solid future working at the family auto shop. Why and when did you decide to walk away?"

  He chose his words with care, knowing this was turning into much more than a simple interview. "Cars were never my true love. You knew that—I liked them, but didn't love them. It was my dad's dream, and then my brother's. Put in the time, saved my money, waited for the right time to leave. Then I had a chance to follow my dream and took it."

  Kat looked around the bar. "So, this is your dream?"

  "Half of it," Jake replied. "My partner owns the other half."

  "Not the dream I expected you to have." She smiled, sending a surge of desire down his spine.

  "Wasn't complete—it didn't have you in it." He surrendered to his desire, reaching out and touching the stray bit of hair before tucking it behind her ear. "Time for the truth, Kathleen. Why are you here?"

  Kat wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Either option would lead to trouble.

  So, she chose the third.

  Honesty.

  She took another swig of coffee, using the heat to fortify herself.

  "I'm retired. Retiring." She flexed her fingers, surprised at how tight she had been gripping the mug. "Journalism's going a new way—not better or worse, but I'm too old to change."

  "Bullshit."

  The curse word startled her, shocked her into silence.

  "Bullshit," Jake repeated. "You were, and are, a damned good reporter. Jumped from the local station here to New York, then overseas with the European bureaus. Short-listed for the Pulitzer twice."

  "You've been following my career." A frisson of surprise ran through her at the revelation.

  He rubbed his chin, dragging his fingers through the thin salt-and-pepper whiskers. "A bit. Enough to know you're still excellent a t your job." He shook his head. "I heard about your dad dying a few months ago. I sent you a card."

  Kat nodded. "I got it." She sighed. "I was overseas when it happened. Caught a flight to London, managed to get back here in time for the funeral. After that... all the paperwork." She resisted the urge to close her eyes, pushing back on the memories. "I always knew he would crash that damned car, driving so fast. At least no one else got hurt."

  "With your mom passing a few years ago..." He shook his head. "Now you're alone."

  Kat drew her fingers along the edge of the desk, skimming the slick surface. "In the end, aren't we all?"

  That earned her a worried frown. "Wow. Pretty deep for so early in the morning." He waited a moment before continuing. "So, you're here doing a light piece about The Thirsty Meeple because..."

  She rolled her shoulders back, trying to ease the tension. "Because I want to. So, let's continue the interview."

  Jake winced as loud cursing came from the kitchen—a deep voice complaining about someone coming in late. "How about we go up to the office? Give me a chance to show off our game library." He nudged a thumb over his shoulder. "And we can hear ourselves talk."

  Kat drained the last of the coffee, savoring the lovely hint of cinnamon. "Sounds like a good idea."

  He walked around the counter and moved toward the stairs, sealed off with a small red rope. "Second floor's off-limits to everyone, except staff." A flick of the wrist unhooked the barrier. "Follow me, please."

  She did so, trying hard not to note the way his jeans seemed to be one size too small, hugging his butt in a way that brought all of the hot memories to the forefront of her mind.

  "People are usually pretty respectful about not coming up unless invited." Once they climbed to the second floor, Jake turned to the left, where a bedroom would usually be. "Harry handles the game library; tracks what's gone out and what's come back. Brings them down for the players on request, collects and puts them away when they're all finished."

  Kat followed him into the room, pulling up as she stared at the boxed games lining the walls, the wooden shelves filled with all different sizes and types of board games. She didn't recognize a majority of the games, but one leaped out at her, almost hidden under a pile of brightly-colored and newer titles.

  "Oh. My. God." She reached out and touched one box, the familiar cover unlocking old memories. "You have a copy of Lost Love."

  "Sure do." He plucked the game from the bottom of the stack. "Let's go to my office."

  Jake's heart was racing as he led her down the hall and into his office, glad he took the time to come in early and clean it up—ex-girlfriend or not, he didn't want to show the nerve center of The Thirsty Meeple as a disorganized mess. The single chair for visitors sat in front of the large rosewood desk, ready to be occupied.

  Kat settled into the chair as he moved around to take his own seat. "I might be wrong, but is this the smallest of the bedrooms?" She gestured at the walls. "Three bedrooms—two for the games, one for the office?"

  "It is." He grinned. "More room for the games, less room for the paperwork."

  "Ah." She crossed her legs. "You share the office with your partner?"

  "And the workload. We take shifts. One opens, the other closes. Not always working behind the bar; we have other employees to fill in."

  She pointed at the game. "Is that your copy?"

  "The store's." He corrected her before opening the box and pulling out the deck of cards. "I did actually donate this one. Put all my own games in when we started up, gave us a good base to build on."

  "So, what do you think the appeal is of board games? Especially today, when video games are easily accessible and affordable. Why come in, sit down and open the box?" She leaned in, eyes sparkling.

  He imagined the mental notebook flipping open, ready to go.

  The familiar speech rolled off his tongue, settling his nerves. "It presents a chance to relax, get social without the usual awkwardness. You can sit down at a game with strangers and have a great time for a few hours without judging or being judged." He rolled his shoulders back. "You don't need to come with a date or leave with one—unless you want to. When you come to The Thirsty Meeple, you get a mental challenge, mind games, a chance to put away the day's stress and relax. That's for every type of game we offer, not just board games. You remember this one." Jake shuffled the cards, enjoying the familiar exercise. "I brought this to school, left it in my locker so we could play with our friends every day, at lunch time."

  "It was a way to get into the dating scene," she offered. "All the embarrassment without the danger in a public arena."

  He flipped the first card up. "What are you thinking about right now?" He turned the card around to show her the lettering, matching his words.

  "How much..." She drew in a deep breath. "How much I've missed you, Jake." She rose and walked around the desk. "I found out you were the co-owner when I did my research. I could have dropped the story, but I needed to see you." A sad smile appeared. "I'm not ashamed to say I used this assignment as a reason to come here; see how you were doing."

  He stood as well, painfully aware that she was far inside his personal space. "I'm doing fine. You?"

  "I'm..." She wet her lip. "I'm tired, Jake. I'm tired and so, so lonely." She rubbed her eyes, shoulders slumping. "I have worked so hard, sacrificed so much and gotten nowhere."

  He ached to pull her into his arms but hesitated—it was a decision he had to leave up to her. "You're a world-famous journalist. What else could you want?"

  "A life. I came in from overseas to an empty house filled with memories that I had to pack up and sell. Now I go home every night to an empty condo—my friends, my associates, they only know me as the bad-ass reporter who doesn't stop until she gets what she wants. All the awards on my walls don't keep me warm at night." She looked at him. "When I came back, I had to slow down, catch my breath. Think things over, look around where I was, and where I wanted to be." The pained sigh ripped at his heart. "The worst decision I ever made was to break up with you."

  "That was decades ago. We were young, had different goals. Nothing wrong with that." He tried to keep his tone steady. "You wanted to travel, have a career. I wanted to stay with my family, support them."

  She pressed her lips into a tight line before continuing. "It took me coming home to realize I did the same as you did, except I didn't know it."

  He frowned, tamping down the flame of desire simmering inside him, fanned by her words. "What do you mean?"

  "After the funeral, I saw a therapist to help deal with the grief. As we talked, I realized something—my dad was the one who wanted to be the world traveler, the war correspondent. I went through the notes, the journals written and stashed away in the attic as I started to go through his estate. I read how much he hated being stuck here, teaching English." She pressed her lips into a tight line, choosing her words with care. "When my mother got pregnant with me, it closed off that venue for him—in his eyes. Except he had me, to mold and shape in his image. As long as I remembered, he talked about being a reporter, going overseas and writing the big stories. I wanted to make him happy, so…"

  "Oh." He didn't know what to say.

  "So..." She blinked away tears. "All I did, all I became, was to make him happy and fulfill his dream. The support, the pushing from him to follow journalism, it was all because my birth held him back. He lived vicariously through me, right to the end."

  "Kat." He shook his head. "Those stories you wrote, they weren't for him. They were for the people, the reading public who needed them." Jake paused, aching to take her into his arms. "It doesn't matter what he wrote in those journals. Your life was and is your own. He didn't write those award-winning, hard-hitting investigative reports—you did. That was all you."

 

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