“Drew.” Darla ran over to him. “Mommy worked lunch so we could play. Want to see?”
“Absolutely, superstar.”
“Mom, let’s do the volleys.” She ran back to the service line and stood in a squat with her racquet steady in front of her face.
I wasn’t sure how I proceeded to hit lobs in the air for her with shaky hands and a swarm of butterflies in my belly, but I did. Each time, her racquet made contact with the ball, dropping it where it should go, and her eyes widened with delight.
Drew clapped and brought his fingers to his mouth, letting out a loud whistle.
From afar, we were a Rockwell painting on a fall evening. Up close, we were nothing close to that.
I used up all the balls from the cage I kept in the trunk. Drew watched every single one, never interrupting or lending advice.
When it was Darla’s time to pick up the balls, I walked over to the side of the court and grabbed my water bottle.
“You know who’s looking hot out there?”
I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
“That’s right. You.” He leaned close and breathed the words into my ear on a whisper.
“Stop. I’m blushing. It’s like you’re the big bad coach again.”
“We should play later this week. You’ll kick my ass. Between the age difference and my knee, I don’t even know why I’m offering.”
“I’m sure you’ll have the advantage.” Except I didn’t know if I was talking about tennis anymore.
“Let me come home with you now,” he said quietly, leaning close.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” He pushed an errant hair behind my ear, his eyes focused on me, his breath minty, his true feelings on display.
“Because I can’t have sleepovers with Darla.”
“I’d hardly call me a sleepover, Jules.”
“I never even brought a man to the house on a date or otherwise, and you expect me to start doing that now? Sleeping with you in the room next to hers?”
“Fuck yeah, but not really sleeping. We’d be quiet, of course.”
“Drew ...”
“I’m worming my way back in, in every way possible. Doing it right this time. No running, no cutting corners, no hiding.”
“I’ve been getting that, but this is too much. Darla will be confused.”
Drew turned to Darla where she picked up the balls. “Hey, Dar, want to go for pizza and ice cream?”
“We had dinner already. Mom made sandwiches before we came here,” my daughter yelled back.
“So? A slice of pizza won’t kill ya. Call it a late-night snack. That’s what people do in college.”
“Yay!” Darla jumped in the air, and all the tennis balls she’d collected rolled off her racquet face. “Oh no!” She stomped her foot and pulled her hair free, watching the balls scatter.
“Hurry up and pick them back up,” I yelled over the net.
“I’ll help, then we get our pizza faster,” Drew chimed in. “And then I can have time with your mom,” he whispered before rushing off.
