Chapter 24 A Night of Trivial Pursuits
A Night of Trivial Pursuits
The brewery was alive with sound—low music, bursts of laughter, chairs scraping over old wood. Outside, golden light spilled across the cobblestones, more invitation than ambience. Inside, string lights drooped from the rafters, their glow softening the sharp lines of brick and wood.
The air was thick with hops and fresh bread, edged by something sweeter she couldn’t quite place—caramel or maybe toasted sugar. Rich. Comforting. Like a memory baked into the walls.
Arden kept pace behind Penny, who moved quickly through the crowd, lavender-streaked curls bouncing wildly, violet dress catching light with every step. Penny didn’t just enter a room; she rearranged it. People moved for her without knowing why, their smiles lingering long after she passed.
They claimed a table near the back, just enough distance to take the edge off the noise, but close to the heartbeat of the room. Penny tossed her jacket onto a chair and surveyed her domain, like she’d been crowned queen of the misfits and liked the weight of the crown.
“This,” she declared, arms wide, “is the perfect launch point for our trivia world domination.”
Arden slid into her seat, lifting a brow. “You’ve already decided we’re winning?”
“Winning isn’t something I decide. It’s something I am.” Penny’s grin turned sly. “Let’s be real, though. It’s the beer I’m loyal to. Victory’s just the glitter garnish.”
Before Arden could fire back, two familiar figures stepped into view.
Gideon.
He moved like he owned the room but had no need to prove it: calm, assured, his presence quiet but absolute.
Black button-down. Dark jeans. Broad shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp.
When his gaze found hers, it held—for a second too long—and the flicker behind it wasn’t quite amusement, wasn’t quite warning.
Next to him, Dan was all easy swagger and unbothered charm. His eyes caught the light, brown with an amber gleam they got when he was amused. He stood like he owned the moment, hands tucked in his pockets, easy and unhurried.
He reached out for Penny’s hand without fanfare, that crooked grin sliding into place with practiced ease. “You must be Penelope. The way Arden talks about you, I was expecting fireworks the minute you walked in.”
Penny’s grin widened as she shook his hand. “And you must be Daniel. The way she talks about you, I was expecting someone taller.”
Dan let out a laugh, unoffended. At well over six feet, the jab was pure sport. “Touche. But at least I bring the charm. And let’s lose the formalities. Only my dentist calls me Daniel.”
“And only my mother calls me Penelope,” she countered.
Gideon slid into the seat beside Arden without a word, his presence a quiet gravity that pulled her awareness tighter. She didn’t have to look. He was there. Warm. Steady. His cologne lingered in the space between them. Her pulse kicked. She told herself it was nothing.
Dan leaned forward, mock-serious. “Alright. Ground rules. Arden and Gideon versus Penelope and me. Balance of power. Keeps it fair.”
Penny scoffed, arms crossed. “Fair? Please. That’s totally weighted in our favor.” Her sharp eyes cut to Gideon, teasing. “No offense, but you don’t exactly radiate trivia night energy.”
Gideon’s brow lifted. “And you don’t exactly radiate humility.”
Penny’s grin widened. “Oh, he’s got teeth. This just got interesting.”
“The game hasn’t even started,” Dan said, flashing Arden a grin, “and I already know this is going to be good.”
Arden rolled her eyes, but her smile slipped in anyway. “You two are out of control.”
“And yet, here you are,” Dan said, raising his glass. “To victory. And to Penelope terrorizing half the room.”
Penny clinked her drink against his with wicked delight. “Equal-opportunity menace, thank you very much.”
The clamor of the brewery pressed around them, but at their table, everything shifted. The energy sharpened. The space between words stretched. And when Gideon leaned in—shoulder brushing hers, breath barely grazing the air between them—she didn’t flinch.
She felt it.
And she knew he did too.
Arden leaned back in her seat, one long leg crossing over the other, the black leather of her pants molding to every curve like it had been stitched on with intention and a grudge. Effortless, but nothing about her ever truly was.
She reached for her drink, fingers curling around the glass with the kind of casual poise that didn’t demand attention. It commanded it.
And Gideon?
He was already watching.
Heat flickered behind his heavy gaze. One hand rested on his glass, thumb tracing the rim in a slow, exact arc. Like control was had to be maintained, one circle at a time.
Her eyes lifted to find his.
The buzz of the room dulled: voices, glass, the steady thump of trivia night, all of it pushed to the edge as their eyes locked. It wasn’t permission. It was gravity.
For a breath, they held there.
Tension wound taut between them. A question unspoken. A challenge issued.
Then, she turned away.
Smooth as smoke. Like she hadn’t just set the air between them on fire and left him to burn in it.
Arden tipped her head toward the table, the corner of her mouth curving as she reached for the pen. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice light but edged. "I’ll carry us.”
Gideon’s smirk was slow, crooked, and full of the kind of intent that settled low and stayed there. He leaned in, his voice pitched low enough for only her.
“You’re supposed to say I’ll carry you.”
Her smile was pure mischief, a slow curve of trouble. “Where’s the fun in that?”
That voice hit him like it always did. Sexy. Dangerous. Impossible to shake.
He exhaled slowly, flexing his hand once around the glass.
He couldn't get enough of her.
This woman.
Trivia began, but neither of them heard it. The game was just noise now—a flimsy excuse for the current running between them.
“The Hanging Gardens,” Gideon said smoothly, answering the first question as if it were a reflex.
Arden frowned, tapping the pen against the table. “I thought it was—wait. No. You’re right.”
She sighed for effect, then smiled—already past the part where she was wrong. “Fine.”
His smirk deepened. “Glad you trust me.”
She scoffed, brow arching. “Trust? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Gideon laughed under his breath, a quiet sound, edged and unshakable, like he knew how the night would end.
Oh, she was in trouble.
And maybe she wanted to be.
Across the table, Penny and Dan were chaos in motion.
Penny whispered wrong answers just loud enough to draw amused glances from nearby tables, her grin unapologetic. Dan played along with exaggerated disapproval, shaking his head like he hadn’t surrendered to her brand of mayhem.
The host’s voice cut through the chatter, booming with theatrical flair.
“All right, everyone! The next category is… Science!”
A collective roar of “SCIENCE!” erupted across the brewery, part inside joke, part battle cry.
Penny sprang to her feet, fists raised. “Finally! All those hours of science podcasts are about to pay off.”
Dan leaned back, arms crossed. “Sure. You probably think Schrodinger’s cat is a meme.”
Penny gasped, wounded. “Excuse me, Daniel—I’ll have you know I was this close to becoming a mad scientist in another life.”
Arden snorted. “You’d be more mad than scientist.”
“Semantics,” Penny said breezily, twirling a strand of lavender hair.
When the host asked, “What iconic structure was completed in 1889?” Arden didn’t hesitate.
“Eiffel Tower,” she said, scribbling the answer. “Took just over two years to build. Everyone hated it at first.”
Gideon’s voice cut in, lower, thoughtful. “Most great things are hated at first. People fear what they don’t understand.”
She glanced at him, catching the quiet weight behind his words. “You’re not wrong. Funny thing is, now they can’t imagine the skyline without it.”
He didn’t waver. “Kind of like you here.”
Her pen stilled; her pulse skipped.
“I don’t think I’m exactly Eiffel Tower material,” she said lightly. “Bit too blunt for that.”
Gideon’s smirk was slow, but his eyes held steady. “Maybe. But you’re hard to miss.”
The air between them shifted again. Charged.
Penny shouted, “See? Eiffel Tower! That’s what I said!”
Dan groaned. “You said ‘Big Ben.’”
“Close enough,” she replied, unfazed.
The night stretched in a blur of laughter, drinks, and banter.
Questions came and went. Arden and Gideon leaned in closer with each round, their jabs turning quieter, sharper—skirting the edge of something else entirely.
Across from them, Penny and Dan escalated into full-blown performance art, drawing attention from half the room.
By the final round, anticipation pulsed through the crowd.
The host stepped up to the mic, dragging out the reveal.
“And the winners are—”
Penny shot up, arms raised like she’d just snatched the trophy herself.
“That’s right! Bow to your trivia queen!”
Dan buried his face in his hands. “Beginner’s luck is not a personality trait.”
Penny leaned over the table, smug. “It is if you do it with style, Daniel.”
Arden shook her head, a smirk curling at her lips as she turned to Gideon. “Told you I’d carry us.”
His eyes met hers, something softer tugging at the edges of his own smile. He lifted his glass.
“Maybe you did.”
The buzz of the bar faded.
Just for a second.
It was only them—his eyes, her breath, the quiet gravity of two people orbiting something neither dared name.
The pull between them wasn’t new anymore. It was constant now. Invisible. Inevitable.
Penny’s laughter cracked the moment wide open.
Arden blinked, exhaled, turned back to the table. But inside? She simmered.
Because whatever that had been—
It didn’t just stir something.
It sparked.
And no matter how carefully she tried to ignore it…
It was catching fire.