“I did, yes. Finley’s grandmother said there were some I could borrow? And to have a look around. But I don’t want to disturb your game.”

“It’s fine,” Dad said. Then he brought his queen to D2 with my king blocked in at E1 and announced, “Checkmate.”

Usually I at least made it to a minimum of a half hour before he beat me.

Dad stood and smiled at Arthur.

“What kind of books do you like?”

“Normally I’m drawn to biographies”—of course he was—“like Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton, but we’ve had quite a few of them assigned to us lately, so I was rather hoping to find something more on the entertaining side.”

Dad politely didn’t comment on Arthur’s way of speaking as if he was recently retired from the royal guard and waved to the room. “Then you’ve come to the right place. There are some good ones. Ever read Jasper Fforde?”

Arthur’s expression lit up and he came close to relaxing. “Indeed! I’m quite the fan of the entire Thursday Next series.”

Uh-oh. This was totally Dad’s wheelhouse. He could talk satiric sci-fi until the person opposite him pitched forward and hit her forehead on the table with a resounding thud, which I had done at least twice.

I began to put the chess pieces away, preparing to bolt the moment they made it to Douglas Adams, but to my surprise Dad only managed, “I wish he’d hurry up with the sequel to Shades of Grey,” before he checked his phone and announced, “Gotta return this—see you around, Arthur,” followed by a distracted “Good game, sport,” aimed at me.

Then he was out the door. Leaving me and Arthur alone.

Again.

There was an awkward beat. There was always an awkward beat with us.

“Did you show your aunt the jeans?” I asked.

“Not as yet. I figured she’d see them tomorrow.”

I nodded, kept putting the pieces in their green felt spaces.

Arthur nodded at them. “I didn’t realize you played.”

“Just with Dad. Though it’s more like he lets me think I’m going to win for a while before kicking my ass. Kinda like you saw.”

He smirked. That word again. Because it suited him. Maybe he really was meant for Ayisha. They could fall in love and get married and have a brood of smirking babies.

That thought alone reminded me of earlier and before I could think I asked, “How did you meet Ayisha?”

“She brought me a cup of cinnamon tea and we got chatting. She’s quite lovely.”

I worked very hard not to scowl as I put away the last chess piece and shut the drawer.

“Are you going to ask her out? You know, have a holiday romance?” I tried to lace the question with lighthearted teasing, but it came out with a bit more edge.