andhiswife | (Reply)

"Oh, they're just for you," Greta says as she neatens a stack of cards. "Saoirse and I know exactly what we're doing, don't we?" She gives the lass a conspiratorial grin, even though truthfully, there's enough of an element of chance to the game that familiarity isn't much of an advantage. Besides, she has every intention of explaining things as they go -- both for Thomas's benefit and for Saoirse's, in case she's forgotten any of the rules since the last time they played.

If this is a conspiracy to stay up late, Greta isn't particularly worried. She still half-expects Saoirse to drop off around her usual time -- or, at most, hold out for an extra hour or two. But as long as she's awake, so much the better. Once Saoirse drops off, there are only a few ways Greta can imagine the evening progressing: something Too Forward will happen, or Thomas will feel compelled to excuse himself before something Too Forward can happen, or they'll just sit politely, as if under the eye of an invisible chaperone, and it'll finally occur to him that this is all rather boring.

She's probably being unfair. Thomas doesn't seem bored. She has no doubt that he could feign polite interest in a pinch, but this is different; he's not merely humoring Saoirse, and she doesn't think he's pretending to be relaxed. Maybe this really is enough.

Saoirse seems fully engaged as the game progresses, though by the time they near the end, she's starting to look a little bit flushed. Cu, fully aware of when bedtime ought to be, is sprawled beside her and appears to be patiently waiting the end of this odd charade.

"Bit tired?" Greta asks, fondly brushing back Saoirse's hair. "Maybe we should get you into your pajamas."