Highly Competitive

It had been a long and somewhat frustrating day at the Denver DLO. Somehow it didn't seem to matter how hard everyone worked, the piles of mangled, misdirected mail didn't show signs of shrinking. At 5:00 p.m. Oliver O'Toole told the staff to head home. Norman and Rita were quick to comply, they called out their goodbyes as they grabbed their coats and left. That meant that the only other occupant of the office was Shane, his colleague and wife of just over two months.

Shane was still sitting at her workspace trying to finish a few more tasks before calling it a day. From the look on her face, it was not going very well.

'Shane,' Oliver began, 'We can pick this up tomorrow…'

He walked over to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She leaned towards him a little and then sighed.

'You're right, Oliver. Nothing I am trying at the moment is working. Maybe something might come to me tomorrow, because today, I don't have a clue!'.

The McInerney - O'Tooles gathered up their belongings and made their way home.

Oliver himself had endured a similarly frustrating day, and was keen to get home, have dinner and relax. Surreptitiously, he studied his wife in a series of short glances during the car-ride home. She was definitely still thinking about work, and that was something he wanted to do something about. Oliver was discouraged too, but not as much as Shane, and her equilibrium was more important to him than his own. He began to formulate a plan to distract Shane as he drove the rest of the way to their house.

As had become their habit (if a matter of a few weeks could constitute a habit) Oliver went to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine to breathe and Shane went upstairs to change into something comfortable. She made her way to the kitchen in leggings, a college sweatshirt she had 'borrowed' from Oliver's wardrobe, messy bun and bare feet. She began to sort dinner and Oliver went to change, kissing her lightly on the neck as he passed. Dinner was easily prepared. As a busy couple who sometimes worked odd hours they had begun to cook extra, particularly at weekends, and then freeze meals for nights such as this when no one felt like cooking. Reheated beef and red wine casserole was the comfort food they needed she decided. Oliver returned in casual clothes (for him) consisting of navy chinos and a grey long sleeved Henley tee, and unusually for him, bare feet too.

The meal was ready, prayed over and then eaten with accompanying conversation - family, work (that Oliver tried hard to steer back from), friends and grocery lists taking up most of the couple's thoughts. Dinner and dishes done, Oliver took Shane's hand and led her to the den.

She looked at him with a small smile that held a bit of a question. 'Are we dancing?' she asked.

'No Shane we are not,' Oliver replied.

Shane thought she might be disappointed about that, but decided to see what her husband was up to, because he was definitely up to something. She sat on the arm of the couch (laughing silently as he slightly shuddered in horror) and watched as he removed the stack of books and artistically arranged (by Shane) ephemera that sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. Next he took two of the larger decorator cushions (more evidence that Shane was making her mark) from the sofa and placed them either side of the table. Deciding things were arranged to his liking, he walked back to the kitchen, before returning with the remainder of the bottle of zinfandel and two glasses. He was a man with a plan, she thought, but what was the plan and was he going to share it any time soon? She really should head to her study and continue working she thought, but he obviously wanted her here doing … something?

After a final glance to check the small scene, Oliver walked to the antique bureau that stood against the wall and bent down to get something from the lower shelf. He brought it back to the coffee table and sat it on the surface. Shane came closer to the table and studied the box Oliver had placed there. It was possibly the most beautiful scrabble game she had ever seen – a gorgeous mahogany box with drawers and a turntable mechanism. He gestured for Shane to sit on one of the cushions, and Oliver removed a royal blue velvet bag, two vintage gold mechanical pencils and two notebooks from the drawers, before taking the cushion across from her.

Shane reached over, poured wine for them both, then looked over her glass with an inquisitive stare.

'Scrabble?' she questioned.

'Well,' he explained, 'you were a little .. ruffled at work today and I thought some healthy competition might take your mind of things.'

He decided to be adult and ignore to tongue she poked at him as he said 'ruffled' and raised an eyebrow at her.

'You were annoyed too…' she countered, then decided to change tack as that didn't seem to be working. 'So you think you can compete with me at scrabble?' she asked in a too sweet voice.

He looked thoughtfully at her, and then gave her words back to her.

Shane's eyes narrowed as she grabbed the bag to choose a tile. She exclaimed, 'Oh it's on! Like Donkey Kong!'

Momentarily confused, Oliver shrugged and then reached over to the velvet bag to pick a tile to see who went first. Shane revealed an 'E' and was happy enough with that – until he showed her the letter 'B' in his hand. She glared, before carefully tightening the drawstring and throwing it in his direction. Catching it in one hand (which surprised him too) he picked his tiles and began to arrange them on the rack. He carefully slid the bag back across the table so she could make her selection. She picked her tiles one at a time, and then made a show of arranging the letters to her satisfaction.

Well, at least she wasn't thinking about work he thought. Then he took a gulp of wine. She was probably thinking about how to destroy him with tiny wooden tiles.