Chapter Six

The hum of the overhead lights was the only thing louder than Nancy’s thoughts. She'd been trying to finish an email to a client for the past fifteen minutes, but her brain had been stuck somewhere between Ethan’s texts and the echo of Mark’s dating profile pep talk. Her eyes flitted to the clock—1:07 p.m. Barely halfway through the day.

Then came the knock.

Not a soft knock. A confident, obnoxiously familiar knock.

Nancy blinked at the door. “Don’t—” she started, but it was already opening.

Nellie stepped in like she owned the place, balancing a brown paper bag and two iced coffees in her hands, a wide grin spread across her face.

“Lunch!” she sang, dropping the bag onto Nancy’s desk with flair. “One turkey avocado, one garden hummus, and both of them boring and healthy just the way you like.”

Nancy sat up straighter, smoothing her expression like it was a wrinkled napkin. “Oh. Thanks.”

Nellie leaned against the edge of the desk, her bangles jingling like a sarcastic chime. “Consider it a peace offering,” she said, then took a slow sip of her drink. “And I promise—for now—I will drop the kid soccer date thing. I see that you're not ready.”

Nancy gave her a tight-lipped smile. “That’s... generous of you.”

Nellie shrugged, as if she had just agreed to stop feeding a stray cat. “I just think you're being way too picky. But whatever. It's your journey.” She popped a piece of her sandwich in her mouth and chewed, oblivious to the flicker of irritation that crossed Nancy’s face.

Nancy peeled open the sandwich wrapper without looking at her. “Still appreciate the food.”

“Of course you do,” Nellie said sweetly, licking a bit of mayo off her thumb.

Before Nancy could fire back a diplomatic non-response, the office door creaked again.

Mark stepped in without knocking, a bright yellow interoffice envelope held up like a judge’s gavel. “Mail call,” he said, making direct eye contact with Nancy, then swiveling to Nellie. “Oh! Still here? That’s... brave.”

Nancy snorted. Nellie looked up, blinking. “Excuse me?”

Mark handed Nancy the envelope with a little wink. “I meant emotionally. Most people would have backed off after that last setup.”

Nancy covered her mouth with her hand, pretending to cough, though it didn’t quite stifle the laugh.

Nellie’s eyes narrowed. “Wow. You two are so dramatic.”

Mark beamed. “We try.” Then, with a dramatic spin, he exited, calling back over his shoulder, “Enjoy your hummus!”

Nellie shook her head. “What’s his deal?”

Nancy didn’t answer. She just took a bite of her sandwich, chewed slowly, and stared at the envelope with the amount of unbroken attention one would give to watching a train wreck.

Nellie tapped the condensation on her drink with one manicured nail. “Sooo. What’s your plan this weekend?” she asked, far too casually. “Wanna take the kids to the lake again? Or maybe wine and movie night at my place?”

Nancy wiped her fingers on a napkin, still chewing. “I actually already have plans.”

“Oh?” Nellie’s tone pitched up with sugar.

“Yeah.” Nancy cleared her throat. “Ethan and I are going mini golfing.”

There was a beat of silence—small, but potent.

Nellie rolled her eyes, the way someone might at a teenager announcing a new relationship after three days. “Ah. Mini golf. How quaint.”

Nancy arched a brow.

Nellie caught herself, grinned wide, and waved a hand. “No, no, I’m just teasing. That sounds... cute. You guys are still seeing each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nancy said flatly. “I like him.”

“Of course you do.” Nellie took a sip of her iced coffee. “I mean, as long as he’s not like that guy from last year who told you he was into charity work and turned out to be embezzling from one.”

Nancy blinked slowly. “Wow.”

“What? I’m being supportive!” Nellie smiled, all teeth. “Just... keep your guard up, you know? You tend to get swept away when someone’s just slightly more emotionally available than a houseplant.”

Nancy gave a stiff nod. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem,” Nellie chirped. “You’ll thank me later.”

A sharp knock echoed again at the door.

“Mail again,” came Mark’s voice, deadpan. “Kidding. Just checking to make sure the temperature in here hasn’t dropped below freezing.”

Nancy grinned as Nellie stood up with a little scoff.

“I’ll leave you to your files and sarcasm,” Nellie said, gathering her cup and slinging her purse over one shoulder. “Enjoy your... golf.”

“We will.”

“Tell him not to let you win. You hate that.”

Nancy looked up. “Do I?”

“You used to,” Nellie said, then smiled with just enough smugness to suggest she still thought she knew Nancy better than Nancy knew herself.

Then she was gone.

The door had barely clicked shut when Mark let out a dramatic sigh.

Nancy didn’t look up from her sandwich. “She still thinks she’s queen of the world.”

Mark smirked. “Long may she delude.”

Nancy snorted. “Amen.”


***

The scent of garlic and butter filled the small kitchen, warm and grounding. Nancy stirred the noodles gently, steam curling up toward the ceiling like lazy thoughts. For once, she wasn’t just microwaving something or picking at leftovers. She was cooking. For herself. And it felt... oddly nice.

In the skillet beside her, two seasoned chicken breasts sizzled, edges browning, the satisfying sound of effort well spent. She didn’t even put music on—just let the quiet fill the space in a way that felt deserved.

As she flipped the chicken, she picked up her phone and leaned her hip against the counter.

Nancy (7:14 PM): Hey, just checking in—what time works for mini golf tomorrow?

She set the phone down, stirring the noodles again. It was the right kind of soft now, so she carried the pot to her sink to strain the water out. Setting the pot back on the warm burner and added a small amount of red sauce to the noodles and stirred it in. She popped a bite in her mouth and closed her eyes. Not bad.

The phone buzzed a moment later.

Ethan (7:17 PM): Hey! I’m excited :) Late afternoon or early evening would work best for me—got a tournament in the morning.

Nancy raised an eyebrow.

Nancy (7:18 PM): Ohhh fancy. What kind of tournament?

There was a bit of a pause before his reply came in.

Ethan (7:20 PM): Okay don’t laugh….It’s a Magic: The Gathering.
Ethan (7:20 PM): Card game. Super nerdy. Been into it since high school…

Nancy smiled at her phone like it had told her a secret.

Nancy (7:21 PM): Why would I laugh? That’s actually really cool. I don’t know much about it but I’ve definitely heard of it.

Nancy (7:21 PM): Is this like… competitive competitive?

Ethan (7:22 PM): Yeah, it’s a regional qualifier. Nothing huge but it’s fun. I only go when I don’t feel like a total poser. Which is rare lol.

She stirred the noodles absently, the edges of her grin soft and private.

Nancy (7:23 PM): Well I think it’s cool. You’ve got your own thing, and you’re good at it. You’ll have to teach me how it works sometime. Maybe I’ll get really into it and embarrass you in public!

Ethan (7:24 PM): Honestly, I would love that.

Nancy (7:24 PM): Also… how’s Crowley?

Ethan (7:25 PM): Sleepy. Full of judgment. Perched on the back of the couch like a loaf of entitled doom. The usual.

Nancy (7:26 PM): Perfect. Tell him he’s handsome and I’m making chicken in his honor.

Ethan (7:26 PM): He says “as you should.”

He sent a photo of a sleeping Crowley on the back of the couch, legs straddling the cushion with his tongue out. Nancy laughed under her breath and turned off the burner to her now finished chicken. .

She plated the food, added a little green onion for flair, and sat down at her table with her phone nearby. For once, she wasn’t distracted, or overthinking, or replaying old conversations in her head.

Just warm chicken, perfectly cooked noodles, and the gentle thrill of a man who plays card games and wasn’t afraid to tell her about it.

***

Nancy stood in front of her closet with one sock on, a tank top that didn’t quite match her mood, and five rejected shirts already draped over the back of a chair.

She pulled out her phone and tapped a quick message.

Nancy (1:12 PM): What does one wear to lose gracefully at mini golf?

It took a minute, but a photo came through in response.

Mark, grinning in cargo shorts and holding a tiny juice pouch in hand, arm slung around a sunhatted woman—his wife, and two soaking wet children beamed in front of a wide, muddy river behind them.

Mark (1:15 PM): Wading through chaos today. You got this. No rompers. Nothing you’d cry in.

Nancy smiled, then stared at the screen a second longer than necessary. Mark was good, and also unavailable.

Which meant the fashion crisis would be hers to face alone.

She pulled off the tank top and reached for the folded black shirt near the back of the drawer. It had a repeating pattern of tiny Stardew Valley chickens on it—pixelated, bright, chaotic in a charming way. It made her smile every time she wore it. Paired with her comfiest jeans and beat-up white sneakers, it felt just right.

No lipstick. Barely a smudge of mascara. A touch of concealer under the eyes because she was thirty-three and last night’s dinner had been a bit salty.

Hair twisted it up and clipped it into place with a matte black hair clip shaped like bat wings. Subtle and little ridiculous, but it made her happy even if it didn’t really go with anything.

She gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, narrowed her eyes, and gave a decisive nod.

“Good enough,” she muttered. “Let’s go lose at golf.”

***

Nancy parked half a block down from Dragon’s Spire, the local game shop Ethan had once mentioned in passing. The name alone promised either epic fantasy or basement BO. Maybe both.

The inside was a little of each—shelves cluttered with board games and boxes of cards, the faint smell of energy drinks and dust lingering in the air like a nerdy incense. Posters lined the walls—tournaments, expansions, and poorly photoshopped dragons with cleavage. A TV in the corner played a very loud YouTube breakdown of someone’s deck strategy.

She stepped up to the glass counter where a guy in a faded graphic tee (featuring some obscure card art she didn’t recognize) stood hunched over, organizing a stack of foils with obsessive precision. His name tag read “Kyle,” and his beard was working overtime to compensate for everything else.

He barely looked up.

“Yeah?” the words sludged from his mouth as if interacting with someone was beneath him.

“I’m looking for a few Magic cards,” Nancy said, trying to sound confident.

He practically jumped back, startled at the sound of feminine voice. His eyes narrowed slightly. “For you?”

She gave a pleasant smile. “Actually, they’re a gift. My friend has a deck he’s using in a tournament today, and I wanted to get him something cool to add to it.”

Kyle scoffed lightly. “Well, the tournament has been over for like an hour, and unless you know his exact archetype, mana curve, and synergy balance, you’re probably going to mess that up.”

Nancy blinked. “Okay... sure. But I did a little reading last night, and I know he plays black-red midrange.”

Kyle’s posture straightened slightly. A glimmer of reluctant respect, but just barely. “So you read a blog post. Cute.” he sneered.

She forced a smile. “Can you just recommend something that’s fun and useful for that kind of deck?”

Kyle reached beneath the counter and pulled out a thin binder labeled "High Tier Singles". It slapped onto the glass like a menu you couldn’t afford. He flipped to a page of glimmering, heavily sleeved cards.

“This one’s Jeska’s Will. Excellent red ramp and card advantage. Thirty-five bucks.”

Nancy’s eyebrows climbed. “For one card?”

“Yeah,” he said smugly. “If you want to actually win.”

He turned the page. “And this one—Serra Ascendant. Technically white, but a lot of players splash it for lifegain strategies. Thirty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Sheoldred, the Apocalypse,” he added, tapping the sleeve like it owed him money. “Top-tier black. Sixty-five. Kind of a staple. Honestly, if he doesn’t already have this card in play then he shouldn’t even be playing.”

Nancy rolled her eyes at that comment while Kyle smiled smugly at the folder of this week’s elites.

Nancy stared at the cards for a beat, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll take Jeska’s Will and Serra Ascendant.”

Kyle blinked. “Seriously?”

She smiled. “I’m just trying to get him something he’ll like. And honestly, it’s cheaper than therapy.”

He snorted, scanning the cards. “Yeah, well... therapy doesn’t have dragons.”

Kyle slid the cards into a small zip bag and handed them over, his smirk somewhere between smug and sweaty.

“So… you got a boyfriend?”

Nancy didn’t blink. “No.”

His chest puffed up like he’d just rolled a natural 20. “Nice. I mean, not to brag, but I’ve got a pretty stacked collection. Foil Gaea’s Cradle, full judge promos, I even run a Discord for serious players only. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people try to pass off as competitive.”

Nancy tilted her head. “That’s… tragic. I’m still not interested.”

His face twisted instantly. “Tch. Whatever. You’re probably just another bitch who thinks she’s too good for guys like me.”

Nancy took the bag slowly, turned toward the door, then paused—just long enough to look at him properly.

“No. I’m the kind of woman who’s tired of men like you thinking basic hygiene and a rare card make up for a personality built out of Reddit comments and rejection.”

She opened the door, sunlight catching the edges of her clip like bat wings.

“And for the record? If I wanted condescension and body odor, I’d go to a Smash tournament.”

The bell above the door rang out as it closed behind her, leaving Kyle in stunned, silent defeat.

***

Nancy arrived at the mini golf course with a spring in her step and a small paper bag tucked inside her purse, nestled next to her wallet like it was some rare artifact. She had to admit—telling Kyle off had been weirdly cathartic. The smell of that shop might never leave her nostrils, but her pride was intact and her mood had only improved.

The golf course itself was tucked behind a colorful family entertainment center, complete with a neon-lit arcade and a snack shack that promised lukewarm nachos and miraculously blue slushies. The mini golf area had a fun, goofy vibe—pirate statues, tiny windmills, and a looming volcano that roared every thirty minutes for no reason at all. A plastic parrot squawked near the ticket booth.

Ethan was already there, standing near the first hole with his hands in his hoodie pockets and a putter balanced across his shoulders. He was wearing a "Dungeon Master’s Union" t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers that had clearly seen a lot of action. He smiled when he spotted her.

“There’s my golf rival,” he said. “I hope you’re prepared for an absolute drubbing.”

Nancy smirked. “Talk big while you can. You’re about to witness true glory.”

They grabbed their colored golf balls—Nancy picked purple, obviously—and started their game. The first few holes were full of banter and near-misses. Ethan overestimated his aim, and Nancy got cocky around the spinning log obstacle and promptly banked her ball into a bush. They teased each other like they’d known each other far longer than they actually had.

Around hole seven, Nancy started patting her purse lightly, heart thumping just a little. She still wasn’t totally sure if the cards were good, but the gesture felt good. She just hoped he didn’t already own them.

She decided to wait until after the volcano hole—hole nine, where the plastic lava glowed red and the ball had to go through the “magma mouth.” It felt like the right dramatic moment.

Just as they were lining up their shots, Ethan turned to her with a grin and said, “By the way—your shirt is elite. Stardew chickens? Instant win.”

Nancy beamed. “Glad you noticed. I debated for like an hour.”

“Worth it,” he said.

She glanced at him, then at her bag, then back to the game.

Nancy was feeling pretty pleased with herself. She still hit the ball like a gremlin wielding a broom, but at least she wasn’t the only one. Ethan had just whiffed a shot into a fiberglass mushroom and taken it like a man who’d fought harder bosses in far worse circumstances.

They were walking up the incline toward the giant, gaudy volcano centerpiece—complete with glowing fake lava and fog machine burps—when Nancy reached into her purse.

“Hey,” she said, pulling out the little brown bag she’d hidden in her purse. “Pause your golf greatness for a sec. I brought you something.”

Ethan arched a curious brow. “Unless it's an enchanted putter, I don't think it'll help me.”

“Better,” she said, handing it over.

He opened the bag and slid the two cards out with practiced ease. The moment he saw Jeska’s Will, his face lit up in quiet, stunned recognition. And then Serra Ascendant followed, and his lips parted.

“These are… Nancy, these are money cards.”

She shrugged, a little proud but mostly guessing. “That means… good, right?”

He gave her a look that was half awe and half amusement. “They’re not just good. They’re expensive. Thoughtful. Intentional.” He tapped a thumb gently over the edge of Serra Ascendant. “These aren’t cards someone buys unless they know what they’re doing—or unless they really want to support someone who does.”

She grinned. “Well, I heard you liked winning.”

Ethan chuckled, then sobered a bit. “You know, people like to act like expensive cards are what make a deck ‘real.’ Like, if you’re not playing the top-tier staples, your deck is a joke. It’s frustrating. I’ve had friends kind of side-eye me for not buying into that culture. Like... playing for fun isn’t enough anymore.”

Nancy’s smile softened. “That sucks.”

“It does. What I love about the game is building something that feels like me. Not something copied off a tournament list. Creativity, combos, weird card interactions—that’s the good stuff. Not just dumping cash into a win-con.”

She tilted her head, genuinely curious. “So… these cards, even though they’re spendy, they’re still you?”

He looked at her, then back at the cards. “Yeah. They are. Because you gave them to me. And because they fit into a deck I built from scratch. Not because they’re flashy or meta.”

He grinned. “If I just wanted to make everyone miserable until I won, I’d play a blue deck.”

Nancy laughed, “Is that the card game version of being That Guy?”

“Oh, 100%. It’s like, ‘do you like having fun?’ ‘Well too bad, I counter your fun.’”

She snorted. “Remind me never to let you teach me blue.”

He stepped closer then, the humor still there but fading into something quieter, gentler. “Seriously, though. Thank you. This means a lot.” He pulled her into a hug—warm and steady, his arms wrapping around her like she was always supposed to fit there.

Nancy blinked a little too fast. “Well,” she said against his chest, “you’re the first guy I’ve ever dated who talked about mana curves and combos instead of sending me shirtless gym selfies. Seemed worth encouraging.”

He laughed into her hair, then pulled back just enough to look at her. And something shifted.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then, without ceremony or awkwardness, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t dipped in tension or movie soundtracks. It was sweet. A little dorky. Honest. Her lips curved against his from the simple surprise of it, but neither of them pulled away too quickly.

When he finally did, he smiled. “Would’ve been cool if the volcano went off right when we kissed.”

Nancy gave a soft, breathless laugh. “Wanna try for round two?”

He looked mock-serious. “For science?”

She leaned in again. “For science.”

And this time, right as their lips met again, the volcano behind them belched a plume of fog and let out a rumbling roar.

Nancy broke the kiss grinning. “Nailed it.”