While he broke his bread in half, Aven thought on her next move. She shimmied the pawn forward two more squares, and he responded by pushing it back one.
“That makes no sense!”
A laugh glinted in his eyes as he ignored her outburst by moving a piece of his own. The clock on the mantel ticked nearer to seven o’clock, which meant that somewhere in town, instruments were just beginning to sound. Thor reached a thumb and forefinger into his shirt pocket and pulled out his notebook. His pencil was missing, so he fetched another from the desk. Seated again, he wrote, then slid the book forward. His large fingers bumped her own as she took it.
I sorry not ask you go dance.
A rush of warmth started in her chest, and she dipped her head to assuage his regret. A verbal answer nearly spilled forth, but thinking to preserve the companionable silence, she fetched the pencil. I am happy to sit here with you now.
He nodded deeply as if to concur. Then his brow dug in. He slipped the pencil from her fingers. You like dancing.
Aye, she adored it.
His study of her face was thorough. Brown eyes settled. His chair creaked as he shifted. Gently he tapped the board, then wrote, You win, us share dance together.
Aven struggled to conceal her shock. More so her delight. “A wager, then?” She tried to appear composed.
He nodded.
“And what if you are the victor?” As that would be the outcome.
He made a show of scrutinizing her, then wrote, I win, you chocolate cream make. He thumbed toward the kitchen.
She laughed and extended a hand “It’s a deal.”
He shook it.
Thor leaned back in his chair. She waited for him to make a move, and her mind was far too much on her braw opponent because he finally took the notepad and held it over.
Not my turn.
Oh. She slid another piece forward.
He moved a pawn and she matched the step, hoping it looked like she knew how this game was played. With a thud, he took that carved figure with one of his own and set the captive aside.
Drat. Aching to win, Aven poured every effort into the match. Thor did as well, though his strategy was more oft rewarded. Bit by bit her side of the board cleared away of white pieces. Occasionally he guided her in claiming one of his own.
Aven reached for a who-knew-what and scuttled it two squares forward, but he stopped her, tapping a different square entirely.
“You’re not setting me up for failure, now?”
He shook his head.
She moved the castle thing he’d tapped, only to realize that her queen was now protected. Aven threw him a smile. His own mouth lifted. Thor’s supper sat neglected beside him, her tea long forgotten. Dotti wandered over and looped herself around Thor’s boot and then Aven’s ankle. Aven reached down and pulled the kitten into her lap.
Thor took up the black queen. She watched in dismay as he used it to claim her important-looking pointy piece.
“Rats!” She quickly slid a pawn forward as if that would do anything to help.
Thor chuckled and it was the deep, free sound she’d come to yearn for. While she was lost in the savoring of it, he took one of her horse fellows.
“You are an overcompetitive ogre.”
He smirked and, after two more turns, gained as many pieces. His decisions had been swift and sure, but when she moved her queen to the opposite end of the board, making him pause to ponder for a full minute, she did a little victory dance in her chair. Poor Dotti went tumbling. Though his focus on the board never wavered, Thor’s eyes shone his amusement.
Gently he sobered and tapped the side of the table twice. Confused, she shook her head.
Thor grabbed his notebook. Check.
He glanced to the edge of the board and she eyed that very spot. Her king was in a precarious position to his queen. She moved it aside one square, but that seemed trivial. With the turn now Thor’s, her loss was all but sealed. Aven’s shoulders sank.
Elbows to the rests, Thor leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. Those steady brown eyes looked from the cornered king . . . to Aven . . . then back. He breathed in gently as his focus shifted around the board. The end would be swift. Yet he continued to study the game spread before them. Was he searching for an alternate move? Surely he wasn’t considering losing.
The longer he scrutinized the match, the more she dared to wonder.
“Are you at a moral impasse, Mr. Norgaard?”
The side of his mouth tipped up. He held out a raised finger as if to tell her to be quiet.
Which really wasn’t fair, all things considered.
With a soft grunt he touched the black queen, turned her in a slow circle, and amidst the pounding of Aven’s heart . . . took her king.
Aven forced herself to guard against disappointment. “Well done.”
He showed no gratification in his victory. Instead, he placed her king with the other captives. His large thumb adjusted the board that was already straight. He glanced around again, looking anywhere but at her. Gaze falling to his meal, he didn’t seem hungry anymore. He pressed his hands to his thighs and rubbed them back and forth as if to chafe away rising nerves. Slowly he rose.
What was he doing?
He stepped away from the table and motioned for her to stand.
Wait. He didn’t mean to . . . he didn’t mean to dance?
Her head rushed with warmth when he took her hand, guiding her to her feet. At first he held on without moving, as if forcing himself to decide. Then with a bend of his wrist he brought her nearer to him. He moved her other hand to his shoulder. Instead of raising their arms for a waltz, though, he turned his wrist, cupping their hands against his chest. Next he pressed a gentle hold to her lower back.
Heavens.
With his eyes down, he tapped his chest, then shaped letters slow enough that she understood. L-E-A-D. He touched his chest once more. Aven nodded, and he drew them near enough together that the buttons of his shirt grazed her bodice. His head bowed beside hers, the dark twists of his hair brushing her raised arm. The hand behind her waist was sure and strong.
They stood there, unmoving. Then with no warning other than his thumb pressing more firmly against her waist, he moved them from side to side. So subtly, her feet scarcely traveled.
His eyes were closed. A slight pinch creased his forehead—the concentration there so intense, she couldn’t look elsewhere. They moved in the smallest of ways, but a sweeping ballroom dance would have been less grand. She traced her gaze past the faint scar over his left eyebrow, down to the ears that let no sound past, then to his mouth that was softly set. Floorboards creaked when his boots shifted his weight. She moved her feet the tiniest measure to follow.
Thor’s face dipped lower beside hers. His beard to her cheek was more silken than she’d imagined. His mouth was so near to her own that with the slightest shift, she would satisfy the yearning that was pulling at her every nerve.
Were they even moving anymore?
The rising and lowering of his chest was steady until her hand slid to his neck, grazing the skin. It was then that his breathing changed. Neck bowing as if weakened. When his eyes pinched tighter closed, she feared she’d frightened him.
Loosening her touch, Aven stepped aside.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt, and for one horrible instant she sensed he was about to walk away. Instead, he closed the gap between them, touched his thumb to her jaw, and lowered his sweet, silent mouth to her own. In a scuff of boots, Thor drew nearer. He slid a hand behind her head and kissed her more boldly than she had ever anticipated.