“Anyway, the heist rule is legit, and you still owe me money,” I say. “C’mon.”
Gideon considers me and my outstretched hand for a moment, then taps the bundle of bills against his opposite palm, leaning back against the sofa. We’re playing on the floor of the main room, mostly because this is where the wood stove is, and he’s got his bad leg stretched out to one side, the ankle still a little swollen but thick with ace bandages beneath a wool sock. Between that and the sweater he’s wearing, Gideon looks cozy as fuck in a verywoodsman who can keep you warmkinda way, which feels impolite to think.
“Or,” he says, slowly. “I have a proposition.”
Heroically, I don’t make a joke about strip Monopoly. He’d get all blushy and embarrassed, and then I’d feel bad, and we’re having such a nice time.
“Go ahead,” I say, finally retracting my hand and sitting up, cross-legged.
“I’ll give you four hundred, and the next time you land on one of the green properties, I’ll give you half off,” he says.
I lean over the National Parks Monopoly board and pretend to consider this. On one hand, it’s not a bad deal; on the other, there’s no guarantee that I’ll land on one of those any time soon, and what if he’s craftily making this deal so he can somehow win in the next turn and I’ll never collect on my end of the bargain.
On a third hand, I’ve seen someone win Monopoly exactly twice in my life.
“Half off the rent on a green property,andyou do the dishes after dinner tonight.”
Gideon snorts at my very fair idea.
“If I’m doing all the dishes, I want free rent,” he says, pointing at the shoe token currently on the Grand Canyon.
“Absolutely not,” I say. “How about you give me five hundred and loan me a sweater.”
“Are you cold?” he asks, frowning. “Fuck’s sake, Andi, just say something, I can put more wood in—”
“They look cozy,” I say, which is… the truth, I think. I said that without thinking about it too much, and now I realize what an odd bargain it was, and I should probably backpedal and take the deal, but also?
Now I really want to borrow a sweater.
“I’ll give it back when I get out of here tomorrow,” I say, since the reports from dispatch are that the Parkway is basically clear and should be totally safe in another day.
“Four hundred and a sweater, returnable upon your departure,” he says.
“Four-fifty.”
Gideon flips through the wad of brightly-colored money in his hand for a moment, like he’s thinking, and then nods.
“Deal,” he says, and we shake hands.
“Pleasure doing business,” I tell him, taking the money. “I like the blue one.”
“You want the sweaternow?”
I finish tucking several twenties under my side of the board and glance up at him.
“I don’t want you backing out,” I say.
“I wouldn’t back out,” he says, awkwardly getting to his knees, then getting his good foot under him.
“Just tell me where it is,” I say, because I forgot that getting off the floor with his ankle was a whole process. “I can go—”
“I’m not letting you rifle through my things,” he says, already walking into the bedroom, muttering something about the organization of my frame pack, which is fine, thanks very much.
I steal two hundred dollars from the bank while he’s gone.
“This one?” he asks, coming back and holding up a deep blue cable-knit sweater that’s chunky and lovely and looks very warm.
“Yes!” I make grabby hands at him, and he makes a whole thing of sighing and rolling his eyes as he walks over to me. I settle it on my lap, take off the fleece I was wearing, and pull it over my head.
