I absently stare into the eyes of the painted man hanging from the plain white
wall of the isolated and silent — except for the gentle hum of the ceiling fan —
recreational room of the nursing home. I am bored out of my mind. The room has an
outdated television precariously tucked onto a small bookshelf, but I have no desire to
watch whatever shows play at this late hour. I see several board games stacked aside
from the magazine rack, but my loneliness doesn’t allow me to utilize them as a
distraction from my boredom. After checking my phone for what’s probably the fiftieth
time in the last hour, I see the pathetic image of a notification­less home screen. Not
exactly a surprise.

What does come as a surprise, however, is the sudden screech that comes from
the entrance door. A man about my age with floppy brown hair peeks his head
through the door, observes me sitting there alone, and starts towards the empty chair
that lies across from me.

“Hi! Didn’t expect anyone to be in here this late at night,” he said, extending his
hand in greeting. “I’m Tim. And you are?”

“Oh, Kayla,” I extended my hand in return. “It’s nice to meet you, Tim.” He was
wearing scrubs, suggesting that he worked here. I had never seen him before, and
trust me, I would have noticed him anywhere. His chiseled features and deep, icy blue
eyes undeniably drew all attention to him.

“I’ve never seen you around here, Kayla. You don’t seem like the type to spend
your Saturday night in a nursing home.”

My eyes glanced at the clock that hung from the wall just behind his shoulders.
11:14. Jeez, I needed a life.

“I usually come here during the day to visit my grandmother, but I worked all
day and couldn’t get here until later. Anyways, she fell asleep while we were watching
TV and she hates when I leave without saying goodbye. So, we have a rule: I won’t
leave until she knows. I don’t mind, though.” My voice grows quiet at my last words as
I realize I may have just disclosed too much information to this random person.
Surely, he doesn’t care to know my whole life story.

He stares at me for a moment too long, lips tugging into a small smile. “Well,
that’s very admirable, Kayla.” He glances around the room, eyes landing on the stack
of board games I noticed earlier. “Listen, my shift doesn’t start until 12:30. I’m just
here early because I had to meet with my boss. The meeting just ended, though, and I
need to kill the time. Would you, um” — he ran his ringed fingers through his hair and
nervously chuckled — “like to play a board game?”

I try to hide my surprise. This man — mind you, a very attractive man — was
asking me to play a board game with him in a nursing home. Interesting turn of
events. “Sure,” I say shrugging my shoulders.

He goes over to grab the first game on the stack, and looks back over at me,
seeking my approval, “Candy Land?”

I laugh at the thought of two adults playing Candy Land. I nod. “I could use the
nostalgia.”

He walks back over to the table, unpackages the children’s game, and meets my
eyes with a competitive gleam in his own. “I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but some
called me a Candy Land prodigy back in the day.”

I match his energy. “Well, lucky for me, some used to call me the same. Kayla
the Candy Land Virtuoso.”

“Ahh, virtuoso. A bit of an upgraded title from ‘prodigy’,” he smirks. “Let’s begin.
Prepare to suffer a devastating loss.”

We play for a couple of minutes, exchanging competitive quips and fierce, yet
light­hearted glances. At one point, I am winning, Tim’s gingerbread man caught ten
spaces behind my own. He picks up the next card, looks down at it, and places it face
down on the table, hidden from my own observation. He moves his piece forward two
green spaces and clears his throat. I stare at him, a puzzled expression clear on my
face.

“Why did you put the card face down?” I cross my arms.

“Hm?” he says not meeting my eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. No reason.”

Ha. No way was I buying that. “No reason? Ok, let me see the card.” I start to
reach over for the card that lays on the table in front of him, but his hands cover it
before I can get to it. My hand stops, briefly touching his before I yank it back.

“Oh my gosh, you’re cheating!” I scoff. “How pathetic! You can’t stand to lose so
much that you have to cheat? At Candy Land?! Let me see the card.”

“No, what? I’m not cheating.” His flickering eyes and concerned look gave him
away. A cheater and a liar.

“Wow, now you’re lying. This is unbelievable. Give me the card.”

He sighed, finally obliging. “Ugh, fine. Here.” He flicked the card toward my side
of the table.

An ugly snicker came out of me as I saw the card he had tried so hard to hide. He was being sent back to the Gingerbread Man at the beginning of the board.

“No wonder you cheated. This is embarrassing. For you, I mean. Well.” I
grabbed his blue gingerbread man, but he stopped me again. His cold, ringed fingers
grasped around mine. As I registered his touch, I looked up to meet his eyes. They
stared at me with that familiar competitive smirk.

“No, Kayla, please. I refuse to go back to the beginning.”

I let my hand continue to rest in his. “No Tim, that’s not how it works. You’re
being a sore loser!”

Again, we stared at each other in silence for a moment too long. He was the one
to break eye contact first, glancing down at his watch and removing his hand from my
own.

“Oh my, look at the time! Time for me to get going!” He rose from his chair and
started towards the door.

It was 12:17. “Stop! You can’t just leave like this. You have thirteen minutes left
before your shift. We have to finish this game.”

His gaze reached mine, the competitive gleam in his eyes replaced with a look of interest. “I will see you around, Kayla.”

As he walked through the creaking door, I mumbled “cheater”, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I couldn’t stop smiling.