“I do. It’s something I’ve always wanted. Kids, too,” Sydney added, “but I know that’s a bigger conversation.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen accidentally, so we’d have to talk about it eventually,” Reese joked, realizing that the idea of having kids with Sydney didn’t scare her. At all.
She wanted everything with Sydney, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought that was becoming more and more common.
“I need to think through the second one a little more, since it’s not something I’ve fantasized about or had a plan for, but I am cautiously open to the idea,” she settled on, hoping that was enough for Sydney for the moment.
Sydney scooted down farther on the bed so that she could look at Reese. “I think that’s a really responsible way of handling this. I love that about you,” she said before kissing Reese on the nose.
“I’m glad you asked me,” Reese admitted before adding, “And that you’re thinking about the future. I am, too.”
Sydney pulled her closer, and as Reese went back to listening to the rise and fall of Sydney’s chest, of the steady thrum of her heartbeat, she wondered how life could feel any better than this.
Twenty-One
Sydney was backat a Grand Slam tennis tournament, one of the four most well-respected tournaments in the world of tennis, and the only one that took place on US soil. A year ago, she’d have killed to be here. Shedidalmost kill to be here—her own body, of course, with her unrelenting exercise regimen and single-minded focus on pushing her career as far as it could go.
Last year, she’d been here competing and had made it down to the final four women who vied for the honor of winning.
What a difference a year made.
Her attendance here wasn’t at all in the way she’d planned for, but that didn’t change the fact, as she walked through a more private path that wove throughout the large outdoor venue, that it felt so familiar. The smells and sounds and the still-scorching early September heat. That buzz of excitement, as close to a million people would attend one of the hundreds of matches; the event taking almost two full weeks to complete.
There were parts that were strange, though. Walking around without her tennis bag, for one. She missed the security it provided as she’d snug it tighter over her shoulder, her body perfectly attuned to walking with the extra weight on one side.
She’d been gone from Stoneport for a week, missing the moments when August rolled into September.
They were heading into the last weekend of the tournament, and Sydney had almost fulfilled her obligation with the network. A formal offer was likely coming any day now.
She’d been called into extra meetings with The Tennis Network’s producers, who had a private section in the venue to run what was a fairly large broadcasting operation at an event of this scale.
She was walking back from one such meeting now, where they’d all but said that she needed to name her terms to come on board full-time.
And that feltgood, in the simplest terms. To be so wanted, especially in a world to which she’d given so much.
But there was also a feeling, one that she hadn’t been able to shake since arriving, that she was an outsider looking in on a life that didn’t quite make sense to her anymore.
Her conversation with Brian a few weeks ago hadn’t helped, bolstered by the fact that she’d been spending most of her days at the Manhaven Tennis Center with him, hopping in on group lessons and working with Jenna and a few other teenage players who trained there full-time.
And instead of basking in the sights and sounds and the frenetic ‘anything could happen’ energy, which she’d already seen play out across some of the dozens of courts during the tournament, all she could think about was how Reese was coming to town tomorrow morning, joining her for the last full weekend.
She’d moved through the venue and into a waiting car on autopilot, the network’s hotel only a few minutes’ drive away. When she was a player, she’d stayed in the city, but here, they wanted the commentators close to the action, especially with the unpredictability of game lengths.
Her tennis life and her personal life with Reese hadn’t overlapped before, except as Sydney struggled to make herself go through her ritual of begrudgingly packing, Reese usually takingher to the airport and picking her up when she got home, regardless of the hour.
Sydney entered the hotel, already thinking about how good it was going to feel to lay eyes on Reese, to hold her in her arms.
One more night.
“Ms. King?” The concierge waved her over. Sydney was used to notes from fans or network-wide messages being left at the desk for her, but she was surprised when the concierge, a young woman with vibrant hair and an ear with studs running the length of it, pointed around the corner to the lounge area. “You have a guest waiting for you.”
Sydney’s pulse picked up, and she wondered—dared to hope, even—that Reese had decided to come in and surprise her a day early.
Her body, exhausted from a long day of commentary and signing autographs when spotted by fans, suddenly roared to life again, an excited energy flowing through her at the mere thought.
But as she rounded the corner, her mouth dropped open, and she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
“Hey, Syd.” Grant stood up from the wingback chair he was seated in, and he tucked his hands meekly in his pockets as he shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet.
