What in the world was sitting on his welcome mat?
Derek eased out of his truck and slid his keys into his pocket as he walked up the stone pathway leading to the porch. He came to a stop at the porch steps.
A Nerf gun?
Hurrying up the steps, he read the note taped to the door.
I’m hiding in the house with the other gun. Winner gets to choose dinner.
He grinned. Allison always did love a good game. He grabbed the gun and unlocked the door. Sneaking into the house, he studied the living room with an assessing eye.
All clear.
With quiet steps, he headed for the hallway. A flush caught his attention, and he grinned wider.
She had no idea he was home.
Creeping toward the bathroom, he paused outside the door. Mentally counted to three before throwing the door open. He held up his gun and prepared to fire.
But the room was empty.
Just as he lowered the gun in confusion, something whizzed past his head, and he ducked. His wife’s giggle echoed down the hall, and he turned just in time to see her dash into her office. He ran after her, stopping outside the office door to catch his breath. Then he dove inside, gun raised. Surveying the room, he noted all the spots she could hide. Behind the desk. Behind her armchair. By the bookcase.
He went for the desk first and peeked around. Nope, not here–
Movement out of the corner of his eye had him ducking behind the desk. A foam dart landed on the ground where he had stood.
Ah, so she was close. Probably behind the armchair.
He chanced a peek around the corner of the desk, and sure enough, he could see her bare foot poking out from behind the old armchair.
Now, how to get a shot off without her catching him?
“I’ve got you cornered.” Allison’s singsong voice echoed through the small room.
He chuckled. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”
“You always were a sore loser.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? So you don’t remember that time I beat you at Monopoly and you didn’t speak to me for three hours?”
“That was different–”
“Three hours, Derek.”
He blew out a sigh. “Okay, fine. I hate losing. But I also really want pizza.”
“I’m so tired of pizza, I want to throw up thinking about it.”
Was it just him, or was her voice closer than before?
“You always were dramatic.” He prepared himself, and when her bare foot appeared by the desk, he lunged. The movement knocked her onto the rug, but she managed to keep ahold of her gun.
And it was aimed at his chest.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t pull the trigger.” Her hazel eyes danced.
“You love me.”
She shook her head, strawberry blond hair trailing across her cheek with the movement. “Not good enough.”
“Because I have my gun pointed at your hip.”
“Seems like we’re at a stalemate.”
“Maybe we can negotiate a truce.”
Her lips curved. “What kind of truce?”
“Neither one of us pulls the trigger, and we flip a coin to determine dinner.”
“Oh, no. Not when chicken’s on the line.”
“Chicken? Really? That’s what you want?”
“What can I say? I love chicken.”
He leaned forward. “Surely, we can make a deal that leaves us both satisfied.” He brushed his lips against her temple.
“Mm. Maybe.”
Trailing kisses down her cheek, he paused at her lips. Tightened his finger against the trigger. “Maybe pick a third option that satisfies both of us.”
“A compromise, you say?” Her breath tickled his lips.
“Yes–”
Something popped against his chest, and his eyes widened. “You shot me!”
“You were about to shoot me.” She sent a meaningful glance to the gun pressed against her hip before tossing her own gun aside.
“Guilty.” He dropped his gun. “I guess you win, then.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” A feline smile spread across her face.
“Ugh. Just the thought of it makes me want to throw up.”
She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him slow and tender. Just when he’d about decided supper didn’t matter at all, she pulled away.
“And that is how you negotiate.”
