Chapter Nine

Sebastian

" You know pickleball is a physical activity, right?" I gesture at Alessia's platform boots and jeans as we crest a hill on the resort's grounds.

"And?"

"And you're going to roll your ankle in those shoes."

Her bottom lip juts out. "Huh. Would be a real shame if I had to hole up in my hotel room with an injury. Wouldn't be able to socialize at all."

"Oh, so this is self-destructive pickleball. Noted."

"All sports are self-destructive, Sebastian. Or others-destructive."

Four courts wait at the bottom of the steep sidewalk, two tennis and two pickleball. They aren't my favorite games, but I'm down for any sport, any time.

After letting myself spend too much time with Nora last night in that steam room, damn near hypnotized by her voice and her stories and that tiny white towel riding up her legs, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be a good fake boyfriend this morning to correct the guilt at getting caught—almost caught—alone together by other wedding guests.

Benji's grandfather. I recognized the voice from the bar and his back-and-forth with Gloria. It's just my luck that Benji's relatives would walk in when I'm in there with "his girl."

We slow our pace as we come up to the large group. Plenty of newly familiar faces, but even more that I don't recognize.I try to do a quick count of the crowd and give up when I hit twenty. The entire cast of The Sopranos could slip into any one of these Ferraro-Mazzelli events and go unnoticed.

I notch my Ray-Bans back into their proper place as the sun peeks out from behind a cloud. The warmth feels great on my arms. "Unexpectedly large turnout."

"Is it, Sebastian?" Alessia asks flatly. "Is it unexpected?"

"You signed us up for this," I remind her with a pleasant smack on the back. "Judging by the turnout, we'll need to convert those tennis courts, too. You think someone already requested cones to mark the non-volley zone?"

"What does that mean?"

"Pickleball terms."

She bids me a mistrustful look. "You're an expert now? This is news to me."

"I've YouTubed the rules. I wanted to be sure we knew what we were doing."

"Sadly I think your research will go to waste," she continues. "With all these people who showed up and only a few courts, odds are we won't be able to play. Which is fine because we're just here to show our faces in support of Enzo." She nods indiscreetly toward two people squared off ten or so feet away, Enzo and the curvy black-haired girl who harassed Benji at the bookstore, the two of them wearing matching white Puma tracksuits.

Rosalina, the bride.

"I wonder what they're arguing about."

She shrugs. "It's nine a.m. and they're about to pickle some balls. I'd be picking a fight, too."

"Please don't say that ever again."

The crowd shifts and Nora and Benji come into view.

Nora is embracing an older woman who I assume is related to Benji. The two chat and laugh as Benji sits on the court with his legs sprawled in front of him, wearing an expression that suggests he feels similarly to Alessia about sports and/or mornings.

Nora, in contrast, is wearing a soft smile, cutoff jean shorts that show off her legs, and an oversized yellow shirt tied at her hip and emblazoned with her store's name and logo. A sliver of skin shows above the waistband of her shorts. String-tied bows on each hip poke out of her shorts.

My attention falters there.

Those black strings have got to belong to a bathing suit. Can't be anything else.

I double-check this bathing suit theory by scanning her neck for a matching black string—

Someone with a bullhorn knocks a few years off my lifespan by pressing the siren button. "Good morning! I'm the recreation manager here at the Foxfire Lodge Resort, and I'll be helping coordinate this morning's games!"

Nora all but drags Benji to his feet as the crowd comes to attention.

"First, if everyone will come grab a colored vest—bride's side red, groom's side blue—we're going to mix and match teams. One blue player and one red player for each duo."

" Mixed teams?" An older man in gray shorts and a differently gray T-shirt groans loudly in disapproval. He's short and beefy with oily hair, a thin mustache, and a grating New York accent. If LaGuardia airport were a person, I'm pretty sure it'd be this guy."Why would we do that?"

"Because I asked for this, Dad!" Rosalina barks. "In the spirit of unity ."

Dad . How did a man that short produce Benji and Rosalina?

"What's the problem, Giuseppe?"

I stiffen at Dr. Mazzelli's voice.

He sticks out his Lacoste polo-clad chest with overwrought bravado. "Scared to stand beside a Mazzelli on the court? Afraid your lack of physical prowess will show? Real men fear nothing."

"He's such a tool," Alessia mutters under her breath.

That's putting it mildly. Where my parents were kind about my not getting into medical school, her cardiologist father was vocally disappointed. As if the rejections weren't crushing enough without his constant commentary.

Any person who makes her feel like shit about her accomplishments can take a pickleball paddle to the face, as far as I'm concerned.

"I won't be standing next to you , mixed teams or not," Giuseppe gripes. "I'll be across the court, teamed up with one of your own family members to pummel your ass."

"Hey, where's your sister?" Vinny crosses his arms, a smarmy smile fixed in place. "Does she need a partner?"

Guiseppe thrusts his arm in the air. "You will not go near my sister! Or any female Ferraro, ti ucciderò — "

"Dad, stop ," Rosalina snaps at Giuseppe. "You know he's joking."

"I was merely offering to partner with his sister." Vinny flashes his palms. "I don't understand the hostility."

"You knew exactly what you were implying," Giuseppe grumbles.

Rosalina looks to her future husband and mouths help .

"Dad, enough jokes," Enzo says."Let's keep this fun and light, okay?"

Vinny pretends to put a halo on his head. "You got it. I'll take the higher ground."

Rosalina puts on what must be a very fake smile for the activities coordinator. "Let's get on with this game, please."

Alessia and I are waiting our turn to get a vest when her phone rings.

Her brows pull together as she stares at the caller. "Eloise knows what I'm doing this morning. She wouldn't be calling me unless it's some kind of emergency. I'll be back."

"I'll come with you."

"No, it's okay. Go play until I'm done." When I start to follow her anyway, she twists her wrist to mime turn around . " Go ! You live for this shit."

She jogs back to the steep sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear.

Despite her command, I still debate following her. Not a soul on these courts would miss me.

But I'm already down here. Frankly, pickleball on a nice summer morning sounds better than anything else I could be doing right now, even with the risk of Vinny and Giuseppe paddle-slapping each other to death before we even begin.

I head over to the containers and pluck a musty blue vest from the collection, then shuffle sideways and settle within earshot of Nora and Benji.

She pulls a red vest over the generous swell of her chest. Benji's vest is too short. He tries to pinch the fabric and pull it lower, but it doesn't budge.

"Why do I need to wear this?" Benji asks. "Wait, better question: do you want to go back to the room and order room service instead of playing a sport neither of us cares about?"

"The vests are fun!" Nora smooths her hands down her stomach. "We'll play and then we'll get room service later. Or we'll go down to The Malted Moose and socialize."

They titter back and forth, but his storm cloud demeanor does nothing to dim her brightness. She's like a little sunbeam, especially in that yellow shirt.

She does a double take and catches me staring.

Busted .

I move closer and lift a hand. "Hey there."

The green of her eyes is washed light in the sun. Her lips lift in a tiny smile. "Good morning, Sebastian. Ready to rumble?"She hooks her thumbs through two of her belt loops, drawing my eye down. With a jolt that feels like waking up from a deep sleep, I discover that I'm a huge fan of cut-off denim. And tied-up T-shirts.

And those damn strings.

My hands find my pockets. "I was born ready."

She grabs Benji's hand and once again does not lace their fingers together. Even still, the easy contact makes the hair on my arms prickle. "Good luck. We're off to pick court assignments."

Benji massages his cheek with his free hand. "We aren't even playing on the same team, Nora. What's the point of staying here?"

"The point is we love exercise, and your sister is right over there. Buck up, buttercup. Wait, what's wrong with your face?"

"I forgot my allergy meds and my sinuses hurt," Benji grouses. "The Adirondacks are lethal in June. It'll be death by grass if I stay out here too long."

She tugs him along like a tired kid at Disney World."There are worse ways to go than grass. C'mon, let's get our blood pumping."

I absently rub my chest as the coordinator explains the rules. Grunts and we got this, they're-going-down -style trash talk ripple through the thirty or so of us scattered over the courts.When she finishes her spiel, she fills out court one with four players—Rosalina and Enzo, playing against their cranky dads. The dads look like they are turning blue from the restraint of not clobbering each other, despite being on the same team. Carnage in the making.

Benji and Nora gather at the edge of court two.

"I need two blue players over here!" the coordinator yells. When she looks up from her clipboard, her eyes meet mine. "You ready, Mets hat?"

I swallow down my knee-jerk panic. There is no good reason to say no, even though something in me screams bad idea at the idea of spending prolonged time with her. Not when that's all I currently want to do. "Sure."

Still, those two can't play on the same team in their matching red jerseys. I'll have to pick a partner. I'm halfway to Benji's side when Alessia's grandmother strides forth in a crisp white tennis dress and blue vest. "I'll play on the shaggy-haired gentleman's team. Benjamino, was it?"

Benji adjusts his sunglasses as he shifts into position on his court. "That's me. Sebastian can play with Nora."

Gloria looks my way. "Where's my granddaughter?"

Unease churns in my gut. I check my phone for a text from Alessia before discarding my stuff on a bench. If Alessia is truly dealing with an emergency, I'll just have to uphold the duties of an imitation boyfriend without her.

I point over my shoulder, nerves spiking. "Oh, uh…needed to take a work call."

Her thin lips pull in a line. "I thought she was on vacation."

"Audiology never sleeps." I scratch the back of my neck as I toss the coordinator a desperate sort of look. "Are we okay to start?"

"Yes, court two is good to go." The coordinator holds her clipboard aloft. "Report your scores at the end of the match and we'll rotate so new duos can compete until we have an ultimate winner."

"Whoever has fun is the ultimate winner," Rosalina calls from court one, eyes trained on her father and future father-in-law. "Even a morsel of fun."

I yank a paddle from the box and cross my court.

Fun . I can do that.

Nora files into player one position. "I'll serve first."

"You got it, partner."

The sun plays off her shiny chestnut hair. "Have you played before?"

"Not much." Never, really . "Are you any good?"

She lets out a noncommittal noise and sets up her serve. If my research is to be trusted, her legs and arms perfectly positioned. "I guess we'll see."

The first few minutes of play, we feel each other out, both our partners and our opponents. With long legs and a great sprint, Benji is surprisingly athletic, though he keeps rubbing his face like he's in pain. Death by sinuses, indeed.

Meanwhile, Gloria is spry, holding her own next to him. She has a natural ease on the court, like this may not be her first pickleball rodeo. It could very well be something she does with her friends or coworkers back in Great River. Those two are a strangely good team; she tells him what to do, and he follows orders. If anyone is a ringer on this court, it's her.

Nora and I struggle to find a rhythm through our first few plays. After a lifetime of playing sports, I recognize performance nerves.She's as stiff as a board.

When Gloria sends the ball sailing between us, Nora lets out a frustrated huff. It hits just inside the back line of our court, scoring them a point.

" Dang it ," she says in dismay. "We can't both stay forward. Someone has to run the back of the court. Think you can handle it?"

"Sure."

I drop back on our court, getting in position.

We settle into our new roles quickly; from back court, I easily thwart Benji's and Gloria's attempts to score. Nora chants yes or nice under her breath whenever I successfully block or volley the ball over the net. Her celebratory sounds are going to burrow into my brain before long, because I can just as easily imagine her saying them under…different circumstances. But they continue to bring the heat, and I swear Gloria has an extra set of eyes trained on me at all times.She's got the surveillance skills of a Ring camera in the suburbs.

Nora loosens up the longer we play and watching her… It's addicting. Her bright smile, her enthusiasm, her competitive spirit are like air to my fire. Then there's how, every time she hinges at the waist or plucks the ball off the ground, her already short shorts ride up a little more. I force myself to keep my sights set high. I am successful about 98 percent of the time.

Two percent is all it takes to memorize the perfect shape of her ass, though.

I take a deep, slow breath. Nora D'Amato is an occupational hazard to fake dating.

With a nice, easy swing, Nora scores her first point.

"Finally!" She beams at me, her now messy hair flying in the breeze.

"Atta girl." I pump a fist in the air, but then the impulse to gather her hair in my fist to get it out of her face hits me.

I catch a look at Gloria and Benji from the corner of my eye and guilt floods me in a rush. I need to turn my excess adrenaline into fuel so we can win this thing and be done.

Miraculously, we take the first of three games. The sheen of sweat on her skin matches my own as she claps in celebration.

I salute her. "Well played."

She salutes back. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

There was nothing bad about it. Her fun-loving attitude makes her a great teammate. "Not at all."

Gloria's voice floats through the air. "Good work, you two."

I shuffle sideways, putting as much distance between me and Nora as humanly possible. "Thank you, Dr. Mazzelli. Sorry—you said you prefer Gloria. Thank you, Gloria ."

Smooth.

"Do you need a break before we start the next match to check on Alessia?" she asks.

"Of course. I was just going to suggest that." I jog toward the bench and grab my phone.

A text message from Alessia waits for me.

Catering emergency, carry on without me. Tell them I'm sick, I don't want Enzo and Rosalina to think there's a dinner problem.

I almost ask if there is a dinner problem—an unfortunate visual of an octopus comes to mind—but shoot her a thumbs-up emoji instead and share a very convincing lie about her stomach ache with the group.

As long as 33 percent of them believe it, I've done my job.

"Hazards of a buffet breakfast," Gloria says. "Let's keep going."

Nora and I win the next game, which secures us the win for the entire match.

I lift my hand to high-five her and drop it just as fast, overthinking the simple touch. Would Gloria find it disrespectful?

Jesus, I'm stressing about a damn high five. My chances of getting through this week when Nora is around are looking worse by the minute.