The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(23)

James: How many cats did you catch today Winnie: Oops. Gotta run!





CHAPTER EIGHT





James



I’m just about to lift my hand off the rook when a small and slightly smug voice says, “Are you sure you want to move your rook there?”

My hand stills on the wooden piece, one I carved last year in between building benches and tables. I was sure about my next move. But one glance at Jo, who is unable to hide her smile, has me second-guessing.

You’d think mind games in chess wouldn’t be something I’d need to worry about with a five-year-old. But Jo is anything but a typical five-year-old. I’m not sure if it’s because she started reading at three or because she spent more time around adults than kids or just some genetic windfall, but Jo is brilliant, perceptive, and speaks like she’s already got a college degree.

She’s also killing me in chess, a game I taught her two months ago.

I slide the rook back and sigh, examining the board again. I’m pretty sure Jo is visualizing her next game, the one after she beats me in this one.

“This does not bode well for you, son,” Tank says, then continues pulling chips out of his poker case. I can hear him counting under his breath.

While Jo has been schooling me in chess, Tank has been setting up for a Graham family poker night. It’s the first one hosted here in Sheet Cake rather than the house in Austin. The thought has my gut churning. It shouldn’t be a big deal—it’s about family, after all, not the game itself or its location. Still. I don’t like change. Right now, my life is pretty much ALL change.

When Tank announced he bought a whole town—a pretty dead one at that—we all fought him on it. I questioned if he still had his faculties. But he does, and this is really happening. Pat was the first to get on board, solely because Lindy is here. Well, Lindy and Jo, who I’ll admit has softened me toward the idea of Sheet Cake.

I’m not sure what tipped me over the edge to decide that yes, this is where I want Dark Horse’s physical location to be. I went from looking for just a brewing space in Austin to something ten times the size of what I was thinking along with a tasting room—essentially running a public bar. It’s beyond the scope of what I envisioned, but now I’m all in.

Or … I’m getting there. Even with as real as things got with the contractor earlier in the week, part of me is still in some kind of denial.

My living situation is a great example. I’ve been crashing here, in the guest room of Tank’s newly renovated loft, and currently, I’m staying across the street at Pat’s almost identical loft while he and Lindy are gone. A third loft is almost done, and Tank has offered it to me, but I’ve had quite enough family togetherness. No way am I living on the same street as the two of them.

I want a house. Maybe some land. A place with room for all my woodworking tools, currently taking up residence in Tank’s Austin garage while my house is being leased out. I need space to move my small brewing system so I can continue recipe development in small batches.

And THAT feels like too big of a commitment. It’s a period at the end of the sentence. Once I invest what little cash I have left in Sheet Cake real estate, it will be official.

For whatever reason, next to buying a house, having poker night here makes Sheet Cake feel very, very permanent.

“You’re not going easy on him, are you, Jo?” Tank asks.

She giggles. “Not too easy.”

I shake my head. Three more moves and she has me in checkmate. If that’s not too easy, I’d hate to see her at full speed. This kid has me wrapped around her finger. I know it. She knows it. Probably the whole town of Sheet Cake knows it and is posting about it on Neighborly. Whatever.

“Good game,” I tell her, shaking her tiny hand.

“Excellent match,” Jo responds with a wide grin, her dimples flashing. “Now, as for my prize …”

“Close your eyes, little one.” I dip my hand in my front shirt pocket, pulling out two things I hid there earlier. Like I said—wrapped around her finger. I put one in each hand, then hold out my two closed fists. “Right or left?”

Jo chews on the end of her braid, her eyes darting back and forth between my hands. “I cannot choose the cup in front of me…”

I laugh. “Have you been watching The Princess Bride?”

“Tank watched with me.”

“And now that’s all she wants to watch,” Tank says, chuckling.

“Could be worse.” I remember a time when for a week straight, my brothers and I watched The Incredibles twice a day. Tank finally banned it after we kept yelling, “Where is my super suit?” any time one of us couldn’t find a shoe or jersey or favorite pair of jeans.

Jo taps my left hand. I turn it over, slowly opening my palm to reveal a ring pop. Her eyes light up. I tear open the package and hand it over. Only when she’s got it neatly fitted on her finger do I give her what’s in my other hand—a mini package of Harry Potter jellybeans. She squeals at that one.

“Thanks, Uncle James.” Jo throws her arms around my neck, scattering the chess pieces. “Oops!”

“James will clean up, Jojo.” Tank tugs her braid. “Why don’t you grab your bags? Mari should be here any minute to pick you up.”