“Oh my God.” I burst out laughing. “You were the girl in the Barcelona hoodie! I remember now. You were clinging to the branch like it was about to run away!”
“I was a child! And that branch was very high, thank you.” She grinned, feigning offence. “You were absurdly calm about it. Bossy, too.”
“I told you to stop crying and plant your foot. That’s not bossy, that’s leadership.”
“You really haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you, apparently,” I shot back. “Still dramatic.”
“Still climbing things I probably shouldn’t,” she said, stretching her legs slightly in the hammock.
We let the moment settle again. The rustle of leaves above us filled the quiet, not awkward, just easy. Then she looked over at me, her expression softer now.
“I used to think about that day, actually. Weird as it sounds. How kind you were. You didn’t even know me.”
“You were just some scared kid in a tree.”
“And you were someone I looked up to before I even knew your name.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Well... thanks. I didn’t think I made much of a difference back then.”
“You did,” she said simply. “You still do.”
I looked at her then, the way her eyes held mine without flinching, at the gentle honesty in her voice, the steadiness beneath the sarcasm.
“You’re kind of ruining your mysterious ice-queen image, you know,” I said, aiming for lightness but meaning every word beneath it.
She smirked. “Good. It’s exhausting.”
We sat in the quiet again, both staring up at the canopy of green above us. For a long moment, neither of us said anything.
Then, softly, Alex said, “I’m glad you agreed to be the guest speaker.”
Something in her voice caught me off guard, quiet and sincere. A warmth unfurled in my chest, steady and impossible to ignore.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “Me too.”
We let the quiet linger, the sunset spilling gold across the leaves, the tension of unspoken words wrapping around us like the last breath of the day. Every heartbeat felt like it belonged to this moment, suspended and delicate, and I didn’t want to move.
•••••
Back at the guest house after dinner with the Cadiz family, I let myself fall face-first onto the couch in my room, arms splayed out like I’d just completed a marathon.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Another message from Bianca. I didn’t open it. Not tonight. Instead, I sent a quick text to Dad.
I sent Nan the same, with a soft lie about how training was “intense but exciting.” She didn’t need to worry. None of them did. I’d call them soon. Just... not right now.
I tossed the phone onto my stomach, staring at the ceiling.
Then I picked it up again. Scrolling helped shut the brain off. For a bit.
I opened Instagram and started idly swiping through stories, mostly tennis content. Highlights from recent matches. Speculations about draws. A couple of reshared charity appearances I’d half forgotten I’d even attended.
I clicked out of the tag and refreshed my notifications. That’s when I saw it.
alexwilsoncadizstarted following you.
I blinked, then tapped the notification. Her official account. Clean and simple. I clicked the follow back button.
