Chapter 414: Someone Special

"Of course!" She nodded rapidly. "Of course. I’m sorry."

She looked toward the Lamborghini visible through the glass storefront, then back at him.

"It’s just... you’re Student Tycoon Stan."

Stan maintained the polite smile. ’While my game video has gone viral and risen to unimaginable levels over the past few weeks, I’ve apparently already developed a fan base.’

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. It was flattering, mostly. But there was something strange about suddenly being recognized everywhere.

A few weeks ago, he could walk through places without anyone caring.

Now, apparently, even a small hobby shop had someone who knew his name.

’I don’t know whether I should be pleased or worried.’

The woman seemed to recover her composure.

"Is there anything you’re looking for?"

"Actually, yes." Stan glanced around the shelves.

"Do you have Uno?"

"Uno?"

She brightened. "Absolutely."

She immediately walked toward one of the shelves. "We have several versions."

She pulled out a few boxes. "Classic Uno, Uno Flip, and a couple of themed editions."

Stan looked them over.

"Classic."

He picked it up. "Do you have chess?"

"Yes."

She led him to another section.

"We have several boards. Wooden ones, travel sets, magnetic sets..."

Stan examined them briefly before choosing a simple wooden set. Nothing excessively ornate. Just a proper chessboard with well-made pieces.

He held it up. "This one."

"Good choice." She carried both items toward the counter. Stan followed.

As she scanned them, she glanced at him again.

"Are these for you?"

"No."

She smiled. "A gift?"

"Something like that." He could already imagine Camilla sitting across from him, studying the chessboard like it was a battlefield.

Then, eventually, insisting that she had merely been evaluating it. The thought made him smile.

The attendant noticed. "Someone special?"

Stan looked at her. There was a brief pause. Then he smiled politely, "Just someone who asked for them."

The woman nodded, wisely deciding not to pry. She finished the transaction and gave him the total.

Stan paid without hesitation. As she handed him the bag, he glanced around the shop once more.

It was small, but surprisingly well stocked.

"You’ve got a nice place."

The woman’s expression brightened again. "Thank you."

She looked genuinely pleased by the compliment.

Stan reached into his wallet and placed a little extra cash on the counter.

She stared at it. "Sir?"

"For the help."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, you don’t have to..."

"It’s fine."

She hesitated before accepting it. "Thank you. Really."

Stan nodded. "Have a good evening."

"You too."

He turned toward the door.

Then she called after him. "Stan!"

He looked back and then she smiled waving at him, "Good luck."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

She laughed awkwardly. "I don’t know. Whatever you’re doing."

He smiled. "Thanks."

The bell chimed again as he stepped outside. The evening air greeted him.

Stan walked back toward the Lamborghini with the small shopping bag in hand.

He glanced down at it. ’Uno. Chess. That should be enough for now.’

He could already imagine Camilla’s expression when he returned. Probably that same carefully neutral look. Probably followed by some variation of I was merely curious.

Stan laughed quietly. "Yeah. We’ll see about that."

He placed the games in the passenger seat, closed the door, and slid back behind the wheel.

The engine came alive. Stan pulled out of the parking lot and merged back onto the coastal road.

His destination hadn’t changed. Amelia was waiting. But now he had one more small reason to look forward to returning home afterward.

....

The Lamborghini moved through Inksea in the small unhurried speed

The sun had begun its slow decline. The coastal light was going from gold into the softer amber of early evening.

The city was beginning to light up along its lower edges, the small warm-lit shopfronts along the promenade, the traffic signals cycling through their patient rotations, the pale blue-white glow of the taller buildings starting to catch against the darkening sky.

Stan drove with one hand on the wheel and his thoughts loose.

Sacha’s awakening. Sophie, three thousand miles away, waking in the dark with her heart racing because her body had known his was on fire. Amelia, boarding a flight within twenty-four hours of learning he was back.

Three developments. Three separate lines. All moving in the same general direction, all moving faster than he had budgeted for.

He shook his head, faintly.

’Things really have become interesting lately.’

Eventually, the restaurant Amelia had chosen resolved out of the coastal skyline, a low, elegant, well-lit building along the promenade with tall shaped hedges along its street frontage and the small quiet exterior of a place that catered exclusively to people who preferred not to be overheard. Comfortable without being ostentatious. Private without being conspicuously so.

Amelia’s taste. Stan pulled into the discreet parking area, killed the engine, stepped out.

Before walking in, he drew his phone from his pocket and typed a single line.

[Stan: I’m here.]

He hit send. Then he pocketed the phone and walked toward the entrance.

Inside the restaurant, Amelia had been seated in the corner for the better part of an hour.

She had, in that time, checked her phone approximately four times more than the small dignity of a grown woman would have preferred. She had straightened the collar of her blouse twice. She had, at one point, deliberately turned her phone face-down so that she would stop checking it, and had then, precisely eleven seconds later, turned it face-up again on the grounds that a message might come in that she would need to see immediately.

She had, in her own private assessment, been being ridiculous.

She had also, in her own private assessment, been entirely unable to stop.

The phone lit up.

[Stan: I’m here.]

Her heart gave one small unfair leap.

[He’s here.]

Her fingers, which had been resting composedly around the stem of her water glass a moment before, moved with the small quick unconscious efficiency of a woman who was trying very hard not to look as though she was moving quickly.

[Amelia: I’m inside. Corner table on the left.]

And then she sent it. Then she reached, almost without thinking, to smooth the front of her blouse.

Then to adjust the fall of her hair over one shoulder.

Then, catching herself in the small polished reflection of the water glass in front of her, she drew a slow careful breath.

’Calm down.’

’It’s just Stan.’

A small pause.

’...It’s Stan... he isn’t just anybody....’

That did not help. Her heart accelerated by another small unhelpful notch.