Worth the Fall: A Single Dad, Romantic Comedy (Flirting with Forever Book 2)

If anyone asks, I’m not actually eating my feelings.

The pink-frosted cupcake staring back at me from my pristine oak desk is purely medicinal. A perfectly reasonable response to finding my ex-boyfriend’s name at the top of yet another legal contract. Clearly another failure at ‘setting boundaries’ on my part.

‘Just one more,’ I mutter, reaching for what has to be my fourth cupcake of the evening. The sugar hits my system like a shot of pure comfort, momentarily dulling the ache that comes with seeing Cameron’s familiar signature.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead, a fitting soundtrack to my sugar-fueled pity party. I shouldn’t even be reviewing this contract. When we broke up three months ago, I gave him a list of excellent lawyers, all highly qualified professionals, who hadn’t spent twelve years planning a future with him only to have him ‘need space’ while literally taking up my entire couch.

‘Miss Mason?’

I quickly swallow a mouthful of frosting as Linda appears in my doorway, her expression way too knowing. My secretary has appointed herself my personal fairy godmother since the breakup, a role that apparently includes an endless supply of eligible bachelors.

‘Just wanted to remind you about dinner with my son tonight,’ she says brightly. ‘And before you comment, he’s only lived in my basement for two years, but he’s very responsible!’

I force what I hope is a polite smile. ‘Thanks, Linda, but I have to work late. These contracts won’t review themselves.’

She frowns, clearly disappointed. ‘Again? You know what they say about all work and no play…’

‘Makes me a successful lawyer?’ I suggest, aiming for light but probably landing somewhere around desperate.

‘Makes you lonely,’ she corrects gently before heading back to her desk.

I let out a long breath, turning back to Cameron’s contract. My fingers hover over my phone as I debate whether to call him directly about the concerning clauses I’ve found or email his legal team. Three months of radio silence, and now I have to be the one to reach out. The universe has a twisted sense of humor.

My phone lights up with a text from Becca, my neighbor and newest friend—one of the few good things to come out of moving to my new place post-breakup.

I groan, the thought of being set up on yet another blind date or attempt by Becca and her fiancé. I’m halfway through typing my usual ‘thanks but no thanks’ when I pause, staring at my reflection in the window. My strawberry-blond waves have lost their morning bounce, and my makeup has faded after twelve hours in the office. But it’s my eyes that give me pause—they look tired, resigned. Like they belong to someone who’s been hiding behind legal briefs instead of actually living.

‘Because that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.’

I shake the thought away, grabbing my phone to text Austin first, my failed first date post Cameron breakup that turned into a surprisingly good friend. If anyone can make an awkward sporting event bearable, it’s him.

Slipping off my sensible heels under my desk, I glance at the clock. Eight p.m. Another thrilling Friday night at Harrison & Brooks. If this were a year ago, I’d be wrapped around Cameron right now… but that’s all just a distant memory these days.

The memory hits without warning—Cameron sprawled across my couch three months ago, his six-foot frame somehow taking up every inch of space as he casually shattered my world.

‘I just need space,’ he’d said, like he wasn’t already occupying all of mine. At first, I thought he was joking.

He wasn’t.

Two days later he had packed up my things, effectively rendering me homeless along with a very detailed budget of my finances that showed I couldn’t afford our shared apartment on my own, but he could… therefore, I would need to be the one to move out.

Becca’s response pulls me back to the present, her message full of enough emojis and exclamation points to power a small city. At least someone’s excited about my tentative step back into social life.

Standing to gather my things, I smooth down my pencil skirt and square my shoulders. I’m twenty-seven, successful, and according to Linda, in desperate need of a life outside these walls. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding behind work and start living again.

My computer dings with a new email. Cameron’s name in the subject line makes my stomach drop, but like the masochist I apparently am, I open it anyway.

Hey Mia,

Thanks for looking over that contract. I know things are weird between us, but I really appreciate you doing this. Maybe we could grab coffee sometime and talk?

My finger hovers over the delete button. Twelve years is a long time to just walk away from. But maybe that’s exactly what I need to do. It didn’t seem that hard for him to toss in the towel after a dozen years, high school sweethearts and promise rings be damned, I guess.

‘Don’t.’ I blink several times, willing myself not to shed another tear for a man who clearly thought of me as just a space filler for the last decade plus.

Instead of replying, I shut down my computer and grab my bag. The yoga class I attempted last week may have ended with me falling on another student, but at least I was trying something new. Baby steps.

In the elevator, I confirm plans with Austin for pickleball. My first attempt at dating since Cameron may not have led to romance, but it gave me something maybe even better, a friend who doesn’t look at me with pity when I order dessert first.

The night air hits my face as I exit the building, carrying with it a hint of possibility. For the first time in weeks, I feel something other than numb. Maybe Linda’s right; all work and no play isn’t the answer. Maybe it’s time to let go of what I thought my life would be and embrace the uncertainty of what could be.

I give the cab driver my new address, not the one I shared with Cameron for five years. As city lights blur past my window, I make a silent promise to myself: no more hiding behind work. No more letting fear of the unknown hold me back.

It’s time to take a risk.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the back seat of the vehicle, reminding myself that there’s so much more to life than what I’ve let mine become. When I reach home, I change into comfortable clothes and curl up on my couch—my couch, bought with my money for my new place. Yet another little thing I remind myself to celebrate. Austin’s response to my pickleball invitation makes me smile.

Setting my alarm for tomorrow, I realize I’m actually looking forward to the weekend. Maybe that’s what moving forward looks like, small moments of anticipation replacing the constant ache of what used to be.

As I drift off to sleep, I think about how life has a way of surprising you. Six months ago, I thought my world was ending. Now? Now I’m realizing it might just be beginning.

The next morning brings a flurry of activity at the office. I’m buried in case files, my shoes kicked off beneath my desk and my hair already falling out of my clip when a familiar voice drifts down the hallway, making my heart stutter.

‘Actually, I needed to discuss the contract.’

I freeze at the familiar sound of Cameron’s voice, a million thoughts racing through my head on how I should handle this.

‘Miss Mason,’ Linda announces unnecessarily, given that Cameron’s six-foot frame now fills my doorway. ‘Mr. Reynolds is here to see you.’

I force myself to look up, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my stomach flips. He looks good—he always does—but different somehow. My brow furrows as I scan his new look. His usually clean-cut appearance has been replaced with what I can only describe as hipster-chic transformation. Complete with… is that a man bun?

‘Cameron,’ I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite wanting to blurt out, what in the hell are you doing here and what is with the getup? ‘I was going to email you about the contract but as you can see…’ I gesture to the mismanaged pile of files on my desk just as several slip slowly off the corner, falling into a scattered mess onto the floor.

‘I thought it would be better to discuss in person.’ He steps into my office, skirting around the pile of papers on the floor with zero attempt to help pick them up, and I catch a whiff of… sage?

‘Plus, Jasmine thought it would be good for us to have some closure.’

‘Jasmine?’ I freeze.

Is he seriously here to tell me he’s already moved on with someone else?

‘My life coach,’ he explains, settling into the chair across from my desk like he belongs there. ‘She’s been helping me navigate my spiritual journey.’

I blink, trying to process this new version of the man I spent twelve years with. The Cameron I knew wouldn’t be caught dead with a life coach, let alone discussing spiritual journeys. That Cameron wore Brooks Brothers suits and mocked my monthly horoscope subscription, calling anything that didn’t come from a finance bro ‘woo-woo bullshit.’

‘Right,’ I manage. ‘Well, about the contract⁠—’

‘First, we should cleanse the energy in here.’ He reaches into his messenger bag. ‘The negative vibrations are really intense.’

Before I can protest, my ex-boyfriend—former captain of his college football team and self-proclaimed king of corporate finance—begins waving sage around my office like some kind of Wall Street shaman.

‘Cameron,’ I try again, coughing through a pungent wave of smoke. ‘I really think we should focus on the concerning clauses⁠—’

‘See?’ He sighs deeply, still waving his sage bundle. ‘This is exactly what Jasmine warned me about. You’re still so focused on the material plane.’

I stare at Cameron’s contract, my fingers tracing the familiar loops of his signature as I try to remain calm when a memory hits me in the chest. Cameron at the Morton & Sterling holiday party three years ago, his Brooks Brothers suit perfectly pressed, drink in hand as he laughed at my crystal. It wasn’t like I was trying to sell him on the idea, it was just a little something to try and keep me grounded when I felt myself drowning.

‘Really, Mia? Rose quartz for ‘positive energy’?’ He’d mocked, making air quotes. ‘What’s next, reading tarot cards for merger deals?’

I’d tucked the crystal back into my purse, cheeks burning. ‘It helps me focus,’ I’d mumbled, while he’d already turned away to discuss quarterly projections with a coworker.

Now, watching him wave sage around my office like this is just an every day occurance, I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. His designer suit replaced by flowing linen, his once meticulously styled hair now in a messy man bun. The scent of sage is overwhelming, making my eyes water.

‘I know this seems… different,’ Cameron says, catching my bewildered expression. ‘But Jasmine helped me see what was missing in my life. In our life.’

‘Jasmine.’ I keep my voice flat. ‘Your life coach. The same type of person you used to call⁠—’

”Snake oil salesmen,’ yes.’ He smiles serenely. ‘People change, Mia. The universe guides us where we need to go.’

‘And the universe guided you to burning sage in my office?’ I can’t keep the bitter edge from my voice.

‘Maybe it’s guiding you too.’ He pauses, studying me with an expression that makes my skin crawl. ‘You seem… stuck. The same Mia, always trying to control everything. Maybe you should try changing too.’

The words hit like a slap. Twelve years of planning a future with this man, and now he acts like I’m the one who needs fixing? I take a deep breath, willing myself not to show how much his words sting.

My mouth falls open and I’m seconds away from calling him out on this new character he’s unlocked when a knock at my door saves me from having to respond. Linda pokes her head in, then immediately starts coughing from the sage smoke with a grimace.

‘Miss Mason,’ she manages between coughs, ‘your ten o’clock is here.’

‘Thank you, Linda.’ I stand quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Cameron, but we’ll need to continue this another time. And if you could, please schedule it beforehand instead of just dropping in. Linda can assist you with that,’ I say, attempting to remain calm and not sound too petulant.

He nods sagely… pun absolutely intended, tucking the no longer smoking bundle back into his bag. ‘I understand. Mercury is in retrograde anyway, so it’s probably not the best time for contract negotiations.’

I resist the urge to point out that six months ago, the only retrograde he cared about was his stock portfolio’s performance.

‘I’ll email you my concerns about the contract,’ I say firmly, already plotting my escape.

‘We should get dinner sometime,’ he suggests, lingering in my doorway. ‘Jasmine thinks it would be good for both our chakras.’

‘I’ll check my schedule,’ I lie, already knowing I’ll do no such thing.

His shoulders drop with an exaggerated smile and he reaches both of his hands out, taking mine in his. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again, Mia.’ He smiles and for a brief second, I see a flash of the old Cameron—the man who stole my heart back when we were just young teenagers. ‘It will be so good for both of us to let go of the negative so that we can prepare our astral plane for the future.’

And the moment is gone.

‘Right, okay.’ I pull back my hands, still trying to make sense of this new version of Cameron. ‘Linda will get you scheduled,’ I say a little louder, looking desperately past him where Linda catches my gaze and jumps out of her chair.

‘Yes, let’s look at her calendar together, Mr. Reynolds,’ she says, gesturing for him to follow her over to her desk.

‘Namaste.’ He bows toward me before turning to face Linda. ‘If you don’t mind, let’s make sure it’s in line with Mercury’s orbital path.’

I shut my office door, leaning against it for a brief second as I try to gather myself before my next meeting. Then I clean up the mess on the floor and grab a bottle of perfume from my purse to try and hide the heavy sage smell that still lingers.

‘Linda, go ahead and send in my next client,’ I say over the intercom.

As soon as my meeting has concluded, I reach for my emergency chocolate bar, the one hidden behind my contract law reference books for situations exactly like this. As I unwrap it, my phone buzzes with a text from Becca.

I pause with the candy halfway to my mouth, my brain trying to convince me that I definitely have an excuse to cancel now after this morning’s incident. I take a bite of the fancy Swiss chocolate, letting it slowly melt on my tongue.

‘What else am I going to do?’ I mutter, taking another bite of the chocolate and then another until the king-sized candy bar is completely gone. ‘Sit at home and eat more chocolate and hate yourself,’ I answer my own question, sitting back in my chair with a very unmistakable bellyache from too much sugar.

I glance at the sage smoke still lingering in my office and make a decision. It’s time to stop letting Cameron’s ghost haunt my present. And who knows, maybe a game of pickleball with new people is exactly what I need.

The rest of my day passes in a blur of client meetings and legal briefs. By the time I pack up to leave, the sage smell has mostly dissipated, though my confusion about Cameron’s transformation lingers like the remnants of his man bun.

‘What the hell?’ I laugh to myself, picturing him standing in my doorway from earlier with his oversized linen tunic and hemp choker.

Maybe he’s just hitting his midlife crises earlier.

I shrug on my coat, slipping off my too-high heels, which I refuse to admit are probably damaging my feet, and putting on my walking shoes. I shut off the light in my office and close the door, the rest of the staff pretty much already gone from the firm, besides the first year interns that are putting in their bitch work like the rest of us had to.

‘Good night.’ I smile to a group of three of them huddled around a copier that smells like it’s been running since eight a.m. this morning, probably because it has. ‘Watch out for paper cuts.’

‘Night, Miss Carter,’ they say in unison, barely even looking up from their sleep-deprived gaze that’s focused on collating briefs.

At home, I peel back the plastic layer of my frozen TV dinner, poking at the rubbery chicken Marsala. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever eaten but it’s better than downing another pack of cupcakes and wallowing in a sugar coma on the couch.

‘Pickleball,’ I say, stabbing the last bite and shoving it into my mouth. I toss the tray into the garbage and retreat to my bedroom to hunt down an outfit for tomorrow.

I spend an embarrassing amount of time digging through my closet for something appropriate to wear for pickleball.

Do people dress up for pickleball? Is it like tennis where there’s some unspoken athleisure dress code I should know about?

‘Get it together, Mia,’ I mutter, finally pulling out a lavender workout set I bought months ago but never wore—back when I thought exercise might help me process the breakup. Yet another failed attempt that never actually manifested into anything. I hold the spandex set up against my body. It’s cute, practical, plus it makes my ass look amazing. Perfect for whatever tomorrow brings. I smile at myself in the mirror, the pastel color bringing some much-needed life into my eyes.

But a second later, that smile fades when my phone buzzes with another text from Cameron.

I stare at the message, caught between laughing and crying. This man, who used to roll his eyes at my zodiac app, is now making business decisions based on planetary alignment.

‘Or maybe it was because you barged into my office unannounced without an appointment like you still have the right to unfettered access to me,’ I mutter.

Instead of responding, I delete the message and curl up in bed, setting my alarm for tomorrow. For the first time in months, I’m actually looking forward to the weekend. That’s what moving forward looks like, I remind myself, choosing pickleball over pity parties, taking risks instead of playing it safe.

My phone lights up one last time.

I smile, typing back.

As I drift off to sleep, I think about how different my life looks from what I imagined at fifteen when Cameron first asked me to be his girlfriend. No ring on my finger, no house in the suburbs, no carefully planned future stretching out before me.

Instead, I have an apartment that’s all mine, a career I love, even if it sometimes feels like it’s taking over my life, and friends who show up exactly when I need them.

It’s not the happy ending I always imagined, but maybe it’s not supposed to be an ending at all. Maybe it’s finally the beginning.

‘Oh.’ I turn around in my lavender short set, checking my reflection one last time before I head out. ‘Maybe it accentuates my ass a little too much.’

I desperately try to tug it down lower but it’s no use. Either the junk food I’ve been using to soothe my broken heart has gone straight to my ass or this outfit shrank a size since I bought it.

‘Shit,’ I mutter anxiously, glancing quickly through my closet for something else but it’s no use. This is the only cute set I have since my workout regimen over the last ten years has been relying on my young metabolism and sex with Cameron—both of which seem to have made a dramatic exit in the last six months.

‘Whatever,’ I say in defeat before rushing out the front door.

Austin spots me first, jogging over with his trademark easy grin. ‘Ready to dominate? And by dominate, I mean not completely humiliate ourselves?’

‘I watched three TikTok tutorials last night,’ I admit, adjusting my ponytail for the tenth time. ‘I think that makes me practically a pro.’

‘Damn.’ He whistles, stepping back to dramatically look me up and down. ‘If you had worn that on our first date, it would have definitely ended differently.’

‘Stop it.’ I playfully smack him. ‘I’m already super self-conscious in this. It fit much looser just a few months back, I swear.’

‘I’m kidding.’ He laughs. ‘But maybe I should buy one for Taylor,’ he says about his business partner, the same one he’s secretly in love with—his confession to me on our first date after I burst into tears at the table, telling him all about how I wasn’t over my ex yet.

‘Seriously, is it too much?’

‘You look great. Stop worrying about it. Everyone’s over there.’ He laughs, leading me toward the courts where Becca and Hector are already warming up.

And that’s when I see him.

Time does that slow-motion thing they always talk about in movies.

‘Oh my God,’ I squeak.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of smile that makes you forget basic functions like breathing or forming coherent sentences. The morning sun catches the slight silver at his temples, and something flutters in my stomach that has nothing to do with pre-game nerves.

‘That’s Miguel,’ Austin explains, following my gaze. ‘Hector’s brother. He’s actually a lawyer too. In fact, we just hired him for the firm.’

‘Oh?’ I aim for casual, but my voice comes out slightly higher than normal, like I’m back in ninth grade speech class and I’m trying to act calm but I’m two seconds away from passing out.

Miguel looks up then, catching my eye. His smile shifts from polite to something warmer, and I swear the temperature on the court rises ten degrees. A single drop of boob sweat trickles down my stomach and I’m suddenly very aware that any amount of moisture is going to show through this material in a second.

‘Pleasure,’ Miguel says, his hand coming toward me in a welcome gesture.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ I practically croak when my hand touches his. His handshake is firm, his skin soft, his fingers thick.

‘This is my future brother-in-law,’ Becca says, looping her arm around Miguel’s shoulders, ‘and you’ve already met Hector.’

‘Hey.’ Hector waves with a smile but Becca is already turning to point out Taylor, the stunning blonde with mile long legs walking toward us.

‘And this is my bestie Taylor, the real-life Barbie, as I like to refer to her.’ She giggles, high-fiving her best friend.

I steal a quick glance at Austin, a flash of red on his cheeks when Taylor approaches. It makes me giggle, taking my mind off how insanely gorgeous Miguel is and the fact that I can feel his gaze on me.

‘Nice to meet you. I—I need to run to the restroom,’ Taylor says before quickly turning on her toe and practically sprinting toward the clubhouse.

‘Still haven’t told her how you feel about her yet, huh?’ I half whisper to Austin.

‘Something like that.’ He laughs, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

After our quick introductions, we split into teams—me and Austin against Becca and Hector, while Miguel offers to referee with Taylor. I try not to notice how good he looks on the sidelines in his navy athletic shorts and gray T-shirt, or how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. I fail spectacularly at both.

‘So,’ Miguel says during a water break, moving to stand next to me, ‘Austin mentioned you’re at Harrison & Brooks?’

‘Three years now.’ I nod, trying to focus on his words rather than how he towers over my five-six frame in a way that makes me want to wear heels to pickleball.

‘That’s a great firm. I’ve recommended a few clients their way, actually. What’s your focus?’

‘Corporate law, mostly. You?’

‘Did family law before turning to focus on corporate the last several years,’ he replies.

‘Austin mentioned you recently signed on at his and Taylor’s financial firm. Switching to finance law now for fun or are you just an overachiever?’

Am I flirting?

‘I guess you could say that.’ He laughs. ‘But it was in search of a much-needed better work-life balance.’ There’s something in his tone, a hint of a story there, but before I can ask⁠—

‘Heads up!’ Austin’s voice rings out.

I turn just in time to see the pickleball hurtling toward my face but not in time to move. Then everything goes black for a moment. Because, of course, this is how I meet an attractive man, with a sports injury and probable concussion. At least I wore waterproof mascara.

‘Ow!’ My hand flies up instinctively to cup my eye as tears begin to stream down my face.

When my vision clears, I’m looking up into concerned brown eyes. He helps me up into a seated position, Miguel’s hands are steadying my shoulders, and he’s closer than anyone has been in months. Close enough that I’m consumed with the sudden urge to lean into him.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks softly, one hand moving to cradle the back of my head. The gentle touch sends sparks down my spine that definitely aren’t concussion related. ‘You took that ball straight to the face.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ I attempt to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but I immediately regret it. Instead of flirty and cute, it comes out crass.

‘I’m…’ The words die in my throat as he cups my face, tilting it gently to examine the injury. His hands are warm and surprisingly soft for someone so athletic, and I find myself fighting the urge to lean into his touch. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne mixing with the fresh scent of his shower gel, and it’s making my head spin in a way that definitely isn’t from the impact.

‘Follow my finger,’ he instructs softly, and I obey, though my focus keeps drifting to his mouth. His lips are full and slightly curved with concern, and I’m suddenly wondering what they would feel like against mine. The thought sends heat racing through me, settling low in my belly.

When our eyes meet, the air between us shifts. His thumb brushes just below my eye, a touch that feels more like a caress than a medical check, and my pulse kicks into overdrive. For a moment, we’re frozen in this bubble of tension, his dark eyes locked on mine, his hand still cradling my face.

I swear he sways slightly closer, and my breath catches in anticipation. But then shouting breaks through our moment, shattering the spell.

‘You hit her in the face!’ Taylor exclaims.

‘Because you distracted me!’ Austin shoots back.

‘Oh please, you’re just mad because I was winning!’

‘Maybe it’s because you won’t stop waving your ass in my face in that tight little skirt that has no business being on a pickleball court!’

‘I’m not so sure whatever is going on between them involves us.’ He smiles, brushing a chunk of my hair out of my face. Their bickering fades into background noise as Miguel keeps his concern focused on me, his hand still warm on my back. ‘Any dizziness?’

‘No,’ I say softly, my focus solely on the way his chocolate brown eyes bore into mine.

‘Any other damage besides your eye?’ He places his fingers gently beneath my chin, tipping my head from side to side as he scans my face.

‘Just my pride,’ I manage, trying to ignore how my skin tingles where he’s touching me. ‘Guess those TikTok tutorials didn’t cover ducking.’

He chuckles, and the sound does something funny to my insides. ‘Maybe we should get some ice on that. Don’t want you having to step into court with a black eye come Monday morning.’

Before I can respond, I hear Becca gasp so loud it echoes around us. I’m convinced Beyoncé must have just stepped onto the court, but when I look up, Austin grabs Taylor and kisses her, apparently deciding that was the best way to end their argument. Everyone’s attention shifts to their sudden display of affection, giving me a moment to catch my breath.

‘Well,’ Miguel says, helping me to my feet with a steadiness that makes me want to swoon again, only deliberately this time. His hand settles against my lower back. ‘That’s one way to resolve a dispute.’

‘Definitely not covered in law school; otherwise, I would have been using that trick a long time ago,’ I agree, then immediately want to kick myself. Way to go, Mia. Lead with the legal humor. Very sexy.

But he laughs anyway, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes my stomach flip. ‘Listen, you should really put some ice on that. Let me⁠—’

‘Mia!’ Becca calls out, finally breaking away from where Austin and Taylor are still locked in each other’s embrace. ‘Oh my God, are you okay? We should get you home.’

And just like that, the moment is ruined. Miguel steps back, and I immediately miss his steadying presence. Who knew getting hit in the face with a pickleball could be both the most embarrassing and most electric moment of my year?

Ugh, maybe I should spend more time with my b.o.b and reestablish some intimacy in my life so I’m not ready to pounce on a total stranger for merely helping me through a crisis.

‘I’m fine, I promise,’ I insist, not ready to end the pickleball date… even if I didn’t get to actually play.

‘I am SO sorry about all of this. Are you okay?’ Taylor says with genuine concern on her face as she approaches me. ‘I did not know he was going to kiss me⁠—’

‘It’s okay.’ I laugh, knowing how confused she must be that Austin just kissed the ever-loving hell out of her in front of me—a woman she knows he’s gone on a date with. ‘I’m sure he told you we were just friends and you didn’t believe him?’

‘Wait.’ Her brow furrows. ‘But you dated⁠—’

‘One date,’ I clarify. ‘We really are just friends. I’m going to leave it at that because I think it will make sense someday but I’m not sure if it will right now. But you’re not stepping on my toes by kissing him, I promise.’ I’m sure I’ve only confused her even further, which is evident by the look on her face, but it’s not my place to tell her how Austin feels about her. I know he’ll eventually pull his head out of his ass and explain it all to her—at least I hope he does before he completely ruins everything.

‘Okaaaay,’ she says slowly before turning to Miguel. ‘Miguel, that was super unprofessional of us⁠—’

He holds up his hands and shakes his head as if to say don’t worry about it, no explanation needed. ‘Last time I checked, this isn’t the office and it’s the weekend. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both my friends right now, not my bosses.’

She nods politely before grabbing her purse and water bottle from the sidelines and practically sprinting toward the parking lot.

‘Taylor. Taylor, wait!’ Austin shouts after her, tossing his racket to the side and following after her.

‘I think it’s safe to say the game is probably over now.’

‘I think that’s probably accurate,’ Miguel says as we both watch Austin and Taylor disappear through the cars.

‘You want to head into the clubhouse and get that ice?’ He thumbs over his shoulder. ‘Maybe a Bloody Mary to take the sting away?’

‘Thanks.’ I smile apologetically. ‘But I should probably get home, get some Advil in me.’

‘Yeah.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. That was stupid.’

‘No, I—I would have said yes.’ My cheeks flush with warmth. ‘It really was great meeting you and thanks again for the first aid.’ I gesture toward my now swollen eye. I’m scared to look at myself in the mirror, knowing full well the embarrassment I’ll feel will be diabolical.

‘Hey, we’ll give you a ride home.’ Becca steps up next to me. ‘I’ve got some arnica cream at my place. When we get back, I’ll bring it over.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile sheepishly, glancing back toward Miguel for a brief second.

‘Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘You didn’t; we were just saying goodbye.’ I turn back toward Miguel. ‘Anyway,, like I said, thanks again for the assistance. It is appreciated.’

‘Of course.’ He takes a step closer. ‘It’s the least I could do.’ We’re both standing there, staring at each other for a few seconds. ‘Hey, why don’t I—’ Becca’s voice interrupts us again, cutting Miguel off.

‘We should really get going. That eye looks worse by the second.’ Becca gestures toward my face.

‘Right, nice meeting you—again. Feel better,’ he says as we start walking toward Becca’s car.

‘Okay,’ I say with a wave before turning and walking away.

When we make it to the car, Hector is already waiting for us. I pause momentarily to assess my eye in the reflection. It’s not as bad as I expected but it’ll take more than just a dab of concealer to cover it. I thought for sure I’d look like Slot from The Goonies.

‘This is why I run, because running would never betray me with a ball flying a hundred miles an hour directly into my face in front of one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life! This is the last time I’m ever letting you talk me into a group exercise activity,’ I hiss once we’re out of earshot of anyone else.

‘Ohhh, so you think Miguel is hot?’

‘So not the point.’

‘It was actually the entire point. Why do you think I invited you?’ She giggles, sliding into the back seat with me as Hector gets into the driver’s seat. ‘Did you hear that, Hector? She thinks he’s fiiiiiine.’

‘Of course she does.’ Hector laughs. ‘I don’t think Miguel has met a single woman who didn’t have that same opinion.’

‘Hector always jokes that Miguel got the looks, he got the brains.’

‘Because being a lawyer is for stupid people?’ I joke, knowing damn well that Hector has put his blood, sweat, and tears into his career as an ER physician. Between the two of them, they have enough good looks and brains to give any movie star or athlete a run for their money.

‘Babe, swing through the drive-through at Starbucks. It’s the least we can do since we almost blinded our new neighbor and now insulted her intelligence.’

I‘m pacing my apartment, phone in hand, while Becca lounges on my couch like she’s settling in for coffee and a show. The show being my complete inability to compose a simple text message.

‘Just text him,’ she says, flipping through a magazine with infuriating casualness. ‘You obviously had chemistry. It was palpable.’

‘I can’t just text him,’ I protest, making another lap around my coffee table. ‘I need a reason. Something professional. Dignified. Something that doesn’t scream ‘Hi, remember me? The girl who face-planted into a pickleball in front of you?”

She looks at me like I’m making things harder than they need to be—most likely because that’s exactly what I’m doing.

‘After the effort you went through to get his number, now you’re going to chicken out?’

It wasn’t exactly a planned-out thought when I asked Austin for Miguel’s number. It was planned for me to drop off a box of fresh donuts yesterday and ask about him how things went with Taylor after the game. A little matchmaking idea Becca and I came up with on our way home from the pickleball courts yesterday.

‘I’m rusty. I was with the same guy for twelve years. They didn’t even have texting back when I was newly on the dating scene.’

‘That’s because you guys started dating when you were fifteen—back then our only mode of communication was passing notes in study hall. Oh, by the way.’ She giggles. ‘Taylor didn’t suspect a thing yesterday when I went over to her place. I can confirm that she is also so in love with him it’s not even funny and she was DYING to talk about that kiss.’

While I can’t wait to hear more about Austin and Taylor’s gossip, I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown trying to figure out how to sound casual, cool, mysterious, sexy, and professional… and interesting in one single text.

‘Help me!’ I say almost desperately.

‘Okay, okay,’ she moans, tossing the magazine onto the table and sitting up. ‘How about… ‘Hey, thanks for making sure I didn’t have a concussion when my ex-date hit me in the face with a pickleball’?’

‘Wait—does he know that Austin and I went out once?’

She shrugs. ‘Actually, I’m not sure.’

I groan, flopping down beside her. ‘Okay, how about this?’ I hold up my phone, displaying my latest attempt:

Draft 1: Hey, it was great meeting you today! Would love to grab coffee sometime! Let me know what day/time works best for you!

‘Too eager,’ Becca declares, not even looking up from her magazine. ‘Next.’

‘You’re right, way too many exclamation points.’ I delete the message and try again. ‘How about this?’

Draft 2: Thanks for the medical assistance. Maybe I could buy you a coffee as thanks?

‘Too formal. Are you asking him out or submitting a medical reimbursement claim?’

‘I’m NOT asking him out. I’m trying to sound casual with a touch of professional, like maybe I need to pick his brain about a legal matter!’ I say excitedly about my new approach. I type out what I think is the perfect subtle text. ‘Okay, last one.’

Draft 3: So, about that work-life balance thing, any articles or resources you can point me toward to help a workaholic out?

I turn the phone to face her and she immediately shakes her head.

‘Now you just sound desperate. And possibly like you’re writing a LinkedIn message.’

‘Now who’s making it more difficult than it has to be?’

‘I’m just saying, judging by the way he was looking at you yesterday, I think you’re overthinking it, babe. At the end of the day, you could send him ‘hi’ and I guarantee you he’d still reply back just as excited if you sent him a nude.’

‘The way he was looking at me?’

‘Oh, please.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘That man’s eyes were practically inside your colon.’

My mouth falls open with a laugh, that familiar heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. ‘To be fair, it was that damn outfit I wore. Didn’t realize I’d gained a little weight since I bought it and clearly it went to the right place.’

‘Well, trust me, that man liked what he was seeing. And not to make it too weird, but he gets a very similar look on his face like Hector does right before he wriggles his eyebrows at me and says, ‘Quiero devorarte.”

‘What’s that mean?’

‘Basically, it translates to ‘I want to devour you,” she says with a devious grin on her face.

I shouldn’t have asked.

Finally, I type out what I hope is a casual, professional message. ‘Okay, how about: Hey, would love to get your opinion on a legal matter. Coffee sometime this week?” I type out the words in a rush as I say them, trying to get them out before I can second guess it…again.

‘Send it,’ Becca encourages, finally putting down her magazine to watch the drama unfold.

My finger hovers over the button. ‘Maybe I should⁠—’

But my thumb slips, hitting send before I can read what I actually wrote: Hey, would love to get your onion on a legal mattress. Coffee sometime this week?

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper in horror, staring at my phone like it’s personally betrayed me.

‘What? What happened?’ Becca leans over to look at my screen. Her eyes widen. ‘Oh… oh no.’

I quickly type.

‘Well,’ Becca says after a moment of silence, clearly fighting back laughter, ‘at least you can’t say it wasn’t memorable.’

I bury my face in a throw pillow, wondering if it’s possible to die from embarrassment. ‘This is why I should have stayed home with my legal briefs. Legal briefs don’t have autocorrect. Legal briefs don’t betray you with suggestive produce typos.’

‘No,’ Becca agrees, patting my shoulder sympathetically. ‘But they also don’t have those brown eyes that can’t seem to get enough of you.’

I peek out from the pillow just as my phone buzzes with a response from Miguel. We both freeze, staring at it like it might explode.

‘You read it,’ I tell Becca. ‘I can’t look. If it’s a restraining order, I don’t want to know.’

She picks up my phone, and a slow smile spreads across her face. ‘Well,’ she says, drawing out the moment because she’s evil, ‘apparently he’d love to give you his onion on a legal mattress. Coffee this Saturday at eight?’

‘Wait, really?’ I jump up and grab the phone from her, a smile spreading across my face when I read his response for myself.

Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the pickleball to the face, or maybe it’s just time, but suddenly I’m laughing—really laughing—for the first time in months. The kind of laugh that makes your sides hurt and your mascara run and your soul feel a little lighter.

And it feels good, really good. As much as I thought I would never get over losing Cameron, it feels good to be excited about something again… about someone.

I’m not sure if this is what moving forward looks like or maybe it’s just a rebound, but either way, it’s a lot better than wallowing in the past. And hey, embarrassing yourself in front of attractive men, sending mortifying autocorrect messages, and learning to laugh about it instead of hiding behind legal briefs and emergency chocolate is a huge improvement as far as I’m concerned.