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I feel a sense of duty welling up inside me.

It’s the Cade way after all: to be the change we wish to see in the world.

Great opportunities to help people seldom come, but small ones surround us every day.

We rise by lifting others.

All that.

With my head full of platitudes, I feel my energy lift as I walk beside him to the dartboard.

I feel quite charitable, in fact.

I mean, this isn’t quite up to the share-my-latest-good-deed-at-the-family-table-over-dinner level, and it’s not tax-deductible (as my parents always ask), but it is close.

I grab three gold and weary darts off the board and step back to the nearly rubbed-off red strip painted on the floor. I give Will a bright smile.

“After you,” he says, ushering with his hand. “You ever play before?”

“A bit,” I respond, raising the dart and squinting at the board for a practice throw. I toss and it lands on the beige nine.

“Care to make it interesting?” he asks as I move aside and he takes my place.

I eye him. Measure him up. “Maybe. How?” My eyes brighten as an idea forms. “If I win, I get executive-level voting power during the next pub meeting.”

He tilts his head with an incredulous brow. “You want to wager becoming the boss. Over a game of darts.”

“No,” I say, raising a finger. “I want to become boss over winning a game of darts. There’s a difference.”

He laughs and throws a dart. It lands squarely on the red eighteen. “I was thinking more along the lines of whoever loses buys fries. But how about this?” He pauses. “Loser has to answer a question.”

“A game of Truth or Dare? Are we in middle school?”

“There’ll be conditions,” he adds.

“Like what?” I say. And even with the thought of it, I feel my energy zinging, giving me a high. The atmosphere around us is loud, buoyant. Music is playing from at least three directions. The clamor of plates and glasses is everywhere.

All of this is the same as when I was stuck with Tom at the Painted Pony Saloon, and yet here with Will the floor doesn’t look so much beer-stained as richly vintaged with the wear of a hundred thousand friends gathering over the years. The sound isn’t throbbingly loud so much as vibrant and alive. Even the cluster beside me doesn’t look so much brazenly drunk as just very, very friendly.

Well, except for that guy who just stumbled off his stool. A little more awkward than friendly.

“We each get three vetoes. And, of course, we will keep this on a professional level.”

Professional. Of course.

“So basically like the icebreaker ‘get to know you’ game Yossi tried to get us to play during our last retreat.”

“But with fries,” he adds, raising a finger. “I’ll be a good boss and throw in a basket of fries.”

I frown. “Yossi tried that tactic, too, but with doughnuts.”

But despite myself, I can’t help cracking a smile as he heads for the bar.

A few minutes later, he returns with a basket in hand. “Ladies first,” he says.

I stand at the line. “I’m beginning to feel like I’ve gotten swindled into working on a weekend,” I mumble, gazing at the board.

I throw my first three and come to a total of 32.