Page 76 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"You're not cooking."

Fair enough. I abandon the stove entirely and cross the room to stand behind her chair. She tenses slightly when I rest my hands on her shoulders, but she doesn't pull away.

"When's the last time you actually relaxed?" I ask.

"Define relaxed."

"Not looking at the windows every thirty seconds or jumping every time the house creaks."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a laugh. "That would be never."

I squeeze her shoulders gently, feeling the knots of tension beneath my fingers. "You need a distraction."

"I'm trying to work."

"You're not working. You're pretending to work while you quietly panic."

She twists in her chair to look up at me, and it's all I can do not to laugh at the stubbornness shining in her eyes. "I'm not panicking."

"Bullshit."

Her mouth opens like she's going to argue, but then she closes it again and sighs. "Fine. I'm panicking a little."

"Then let's do something else." I move toward the kitchen and start opening drawers at random until I find what I'm looking for. An old deck of cards, slightly worn at the edges. "You know how to play poker?"

"Poker?"

"Yeah. Cards. Betting. Bluffing. It's a whole thing."

She stares at me like I've lost my mind. "You want to play cards?"

"Unless you've got a better idea."

For a moment, I think she's going to refuse. Then she closes her laptop with a decisive snap and stands. "Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm terrible at poker."

"Good. Then I'll win."

We move to the living room where the fireplace is already burning low. I add another log and watch the flames catch before settling onto the floor with my back against the couch. Marla sits across from me, cross-legged, and I deal the cards between us.

The first few hands are straightforward. She loses consistently, folding early or betting too conservatively. But by the fifth hand, she's starting to get the hang of it. She wins with a pair of queens and grins at me like she's just conquered the world.

"Beginner's luck," I say.

"Or maybe you're just bad at this."

"I'm never bad at anything."

She laughs, and the sound fills the cottage, lightening the strained mood that's been present these last few days. This is what I wanted. To make her forget about the danger outside, even if it's just for an hour.

By the tenth hand, she's accusing me of cheating.

"You're counting cards," she says, pointing at me with a suspicious look.

"I'm not counting cards."

"Then how do you keep winning?"

"Skill. Experience. Natural talent."