I shook my head, cheeks warming. “Unfortunately… very real story. I’ve never respected a dessert fork more in my life.”
Before she could react, I stepped beside her to try the door myself. The space between us tightened immediately.
Okay. Breathe. Be normal. Do not malfunction. Do not stare at her cheekbones. Or her shoulders. Or anything, actually.
I try to open the door a few times, pretending to focus on it even though my pulse has picked up its own tempo. The door rattled but didn’t budge. Perfect. Fantastic. Thank you, universe, for this highly controlled emotional crisis.
“No staff this time though,” I said, forcing a dry laugh that I prayed didn’t betray anything. “This part of the ballroom doesn’t really get much foot traffic. Everyone sticks to the main floor.”
“So… we’re stuck,” she said slowly.
“Looks like it.”
I leaned against the doorframe, letting out a slow breath I hoped sounded casual. It didn’t feel casual. Noteven close. I was stuck on a balcony with the girl I’d had a crush on since we were nine, and my body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo to behave.
“You knew this door got stuck last year, and you still came out here again?”
“I needed air,” I said. “Didn’t think it’d betray me twice.”
She gave a short, frustrated exhale and ran a hand through her hair. “God, I was supposed to check in with Maddie. She’s going to think I disappeared or passed out in a champagne fountain or something.”
I stayed quiet, watching her; the way frustration flushed across her cheeks, the way she tried to hide how tired she actually was. And yes, it was hard not to stare. But proximity does strange things to rational thought, especially when it’s her.
She pressed her hands to her hips. “This is ridiculous. Why does this part of the venue even exist if no one comes out here?”
“Peace and suffering,” I offered dryly, mostly to keep myself from overthinking.
She turned toward me, half a glare, half disbelief. “Seriously? You’re making jokes?”
Her tone was sharp, but something underneath it hummed, maybe exhaustion. And despite myself, I felt a small smile pull at my lips. I couldn’t help it; Olivia’s frustration was… honestly kind of attractive. “What? You want me to panic too?”
Her gaze lingered on me a beat too long, like she couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused, before she let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
She exhaled hard and crossed her arms. “This is actually insane. Who walks back into a broken balcony door situationtwice?”
“I like to live on the edge,”
She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Right. Because jammed glass doors are known to heal themselves overnight.”
So she had some bite. I didn’t know why that surprised me. On court, she was all precision and calm, but this version of her trying to yank open a door felt maybe a little cute. (Not that I’d admit it out loud.)
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “Hey, maybe I’m an optimist.”
That earned me a snort. “That’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been working on my stand-up routine. Planning to take it on tour if I ever get tired of tennis.”
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her. “Trapped with a brooding introvert queen and bad jokes. Great.”
I let out a soft laugh, letting myself relax into the banter a little. “Well, it’s either that or we start practicing our escape plan. Unless you’ve got a crowbar hidden in that dress?”
Her smile widened, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I wasn’t the only one enjoying this ridiculous balcony moment.
She glanced back at the jammed door, then at the empty balcony, the grin softening into something more resigned. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she leaned her head against the glass.
“Got any more jokes?” she asked, eyes closed for a moment, like she was bracing herself.
I paused. “No, but if we’re stuck here long enough, I might start screaming for help.”
