Chapter Sixteen
Charlie
Time to check my progress on Turning a Friend into More.
I opened at the library this morning, and I’ve been packaging sneakers since I got home. I’m halfway through the ones I need to ship in the morning, so it’s a good time to take a break and work on my actual favorite project.
I lean against the passthrough counter of my kitchen, studying my list.
Number one: spend a lot of time together. It’s probably cheating that I even put it on there, but I needed to start with a win.
Number two: create opportunities for her to see you as dateable. I’ve created the opportunities. The only way to measure if it’s working is if she dates me.
Number three: stay safe but become less comfortable. Yes. I’m surprising her without making her anxious. Becoming unexpected.
Number four: intentional connection, e.g. focused eye contact. I know a soft whisper near her ear makes her shiver. I didn’t know that last week. Progress.
Number five: share intense sensory experiences, e.g.
live music, adrenaline stuff. Need to figure that out.
This is why there’s a scene in every holiday movie my sisters make me watch where the couple goes ice skating, and one of the leads has to be super bad at it so there’s lots of “helpful” hand holding and catching of falls.
That counts as an intense sensory experience in Hallmark land.
If I could think of a smooth way to get Ruby out climbing, that has some possibilities, but it’s never come up organically before.
Number six: create demand. Turning her down for dinner the other day made a bigger impression than anything else I’ve done.
The most effective strategy so far is the one that I like the least because it means choosing not to spend time with her.
But I want her thinking that whatever she’s doing when I’m not around would be better if I were there.
I have to find the balance between creating demand through scarcity but also spend more time around her. Who made this dumb list?
The answer is quality over quantity. That’s how I balance the two. Not just spending more time; spending quality time.
I brainstorm ideas while I print shipping labels, but I’ve barely come up with an idea when Ruby solves the problem with a text.
Pickle ball?
What’s the rest of the question?
She FaceTimes me. “Lunch guy called.”
“Lunch guy?” I pretend I don’t know who she’s talking about.
“West Elm sofa dude.”
“Oh, Afton. Got it.”
“Alton. Anyway, he wants to go out again, and I asked him how he felt about a double date with one of my coworkers.” She frowns. “He seemed like he thought it was weird, but he’s going along with it.”
“How did this end up with pickleball?” Neither of us plays. I don’t have time, and Ruby isn’t that kind of athlete.
“He suggested it. Said it’s fun for pairs. Do you think Sydney would be okay with it? Or I can see if one of the other girls can come. But not Ava.”
Not Ava because that would mean Ava plus Joey. Competitiveness among the Ramos siblings sometimes involves urgent care trips. “Don’t want Alton getting the right impression of you, huh?”
“I would definitely at some point try to beat Joey with my pickleball hitter,” Ruby says.
“Paddle,” I offer.
“More like smack him upside the head a few times.”
I laugh. “No, I mean a pickleball hitter is a paddle.”
“Alton doesn’t need to watch me take my brother out with a paddle, a pickleball, or my bare hands,” she says. “That’s third date territory.”
“I’ll ask Sydney,” I say.
“Thank youuuuu,” she croons. “Break’s over. Gotta go.”
If you ever need to share an intense sensory experience with someone, may I recommend pickleball?
Heat. Grunting. Groaning. Loud profanity. Whoops. Hollers. Sweat. Jumping. Profanity. Diving. Heavy breathing. Emotional intensity. Elevated heartrate. Profanity.
And that’s the golden oldie couples playing on the court next to ours. The tiny silver-haired woman, even shorter than Ruby, has the mouth of a sailor.
“Ahab would love her,” Ruby murmurs to me.
We exchange an amused glance before Alton draws everyone’s attention by bouncing a whiffle ball against his paddle a few times. He’s a good-looking man, and he’s been super pleasant so far, unfortunately. I can’t stand this dude.
He catches the ball and holds it up. “Okay, none of you have played pickleball before?” When we all shake our heads, his forehead wrinkles. “Know anything about it?”
“Invented on Bainbridge Island by some dads in the 1960s,” Ruby says.
“Because one of them had a dog named Pickle that was obsessed with the ball,” I add.
Sydney and Alton look at us. Ruby and I look at each other and laugh. Of course the librarians did the research.
“I meant know anything that will help you play it,” Alton says. “Any of you ever play tennis?” Sydney raises her hand. “Or table tennis?” Ruby and I raise our hands too.
“Not a bad place to start,” Alton says. “As far as rules and keeping score, think about pickleball like you’re standing on a giant ping-pong table. As far as actually scoring, you don’t need to hit as hard as you think, be ready to move around, and . . . good luck?”
“That tone does not inspire confidence, my dude,” Ruby says.
Alton smiles at her. “We won’t need luck because we have me.”
It bugs me. It’s bro-y.
Ruby catches my eyes and widens hers, and I realize I’m frowning. I smooth that out, then she flicks a glance at Sydney, a reminder that I’m supposed to be Captain PDA. I’ve warned Sydney about Ruby’s opinion, and she was amused but agreed I should step it up.
I drape an arm over her shoulders and flip my paddle, catching it and smiling at Alton. “Game on, friends.”
“Let’s do some practice points first, and when everyone is comfortable, we’ll start keeping score,” he says.
Alton is right; Ruby doesn’t need luck because Alton has them covered. He gives us easy serves and returns shots so Sydney and I can get the hang of things. We keep misjudging force and speed, but we’re starting to catch on as we do more practice points.
When Ruby does something right—volleys or jumps out of the way to let Alton do the work, he praises her and gives her a high five or a fist bump. When she has to hustle and stretch to return a hit, he grabs her and swings her around before setting her down.
“Great job, Ruby.” His hands linger on her waist, and my fist tightens around my paddle. He calls over, “Ready to keep score?”
“Ready,” Sydney answers, her voice cheerful.
Alton holds up his paddle in front of his free hand. “Choose a one or two.”
Sydney guesses, “One.” She’s correct and she chooses to serve. Alton picks which side he wants to start, and we get situated.
Sydney serves cross court to Ruby. Ruby runs forward and volleys it back.
“No,” Alton says. “No, you can’t do that.”
I hit it back and when Alton lets it go past without moving, we all stop.
“Double bounce rule.” He points his paddle at Ruby. “You have to let it bounce once on your side after a serve before you can hit it.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
“Me too,” Sydney says. “Do over?”
Ruby and I agree. Alton doesn’t say anything, but he pulls another ball from his shorts pocket and tosses it to Sydney. We all reset, and Sydney delivers another decent serve. This time, Ruby lets it bounce, but she hits it too hard, and it lands way past our baseline.
“Sorry.” Ruby flexes her biceps. “Small but mighty.”
Alton shakes his head.
Sydney and I switch boxes, and she serves again, this time to Alton. He returns it, and the ball whizzes past to bounce behind me before going out.
“Yes.” Alton gives a fist pump.
Congrats on getting a point on a guy who hasn’t played before, I guess?
Sydney runs over to give me a quick hug. “I still respect you.” Then she whispers, “Pat my butt.”
I’m not about to make that move unless I’m sure I heard her, but she looks over her shoulder and winks.
“Your serve,” Alton tells Ruby.
She hits it underhand like Alton showed us in the warmup. With a light thwack, it sails over the net to land in an area called the kitchen.
“Whoops,” Ruby laughs.
“Stay out of the kitchen,” Alton says. His tone isn’t mean, but it’s not light.
“So progressive of you,” Ruby jokes, and it makes Sydney and me laugh.
Alton positions himself to serve. Ruby takes a more active stance near the kitchen, and he shakes his head. “No, at the baseline, Ruby.”
“Right, the baseline.” Her tone is bright, but I hear a faint brittleness at its edges. She moves up to the front of her box, and I try to catch her eye, but she keeps hers on the net.
Alton serves, Sydney returns it, and though it’s squarely in Ruby’s box, Alton lunges over to hit it back, sending it to land in my box right inside the baseline again before it bounces out.
He does his fist pump, and Sydney runs over again to hug me, whispering again, “I mean it. Slap my butt.”
This time when she turns away, I give her a booty pat, and she tosses me a look over her shoulder, does a shimmy, and jogs back to her spot.
I sneak a glance at Ruby. She’s watching, and she smiles and gives me a thumbs up.
Not sure that had the effect Sydney thought it might.
Alton serves again and we end up in a rally, going back and forth about five times before Sydney hits it past Ruby, giving us a side out and making it our turn to serve.
While we set up, Alton goes to talk to Ruby, his head low, face intent. Her lips are pursed, her eyes narrowed. She’s irritated as she walks to her box.
“Up to the kitchen when they serve,” Alton calls.
Ruby doesn’t move for a second, but her chest rises with a slow breath before she straightens and jogs forward.
I serve, Alton returns it, another rally happens, and this time, Sydney scores on Alton.
“Ha,” she says.
He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything.
Sydney’s eyes turn to slits before she looks over at me and mouths, I’m taking him down.
Her next serve forces Alton to scramble and return it from an awkward angle, sending it into the net.
“Nice, Sydney,” Ruby calls.
“Thanks. I think I’m getting it translated from tennis,” Sydney answers. Her next serve drops right in front of Alton, forcing another awkward hit, and he sends it into the net again.
He gives a frustrated grunt.
“It’s okay,” Ruby says. “You’re still doing it better than I could.”
Sydney's next serve starts a rally, and when Ruby sends the ball into the net on the fifth shot, she straightens, grinning.
“We did good that time,” she says.
“Ruby,” Alton snaps, and his sharp tone gets everyone’s attention. “You gave them another point. Head in the game.”
“You gave us two, bro,” I point out. “Calm down.”
He shakes his head and walks back to wait for the next serve.
I shoot Ruby a look that asks if she’s okay. She rolls her eyes and nods.
“Let’s do this,” she says, clapping her hands.
The next rally goes well until I return the ball too hard and it arcs toward their baseline. Ruby runs for it, and Alton yells, “Let it go!” But she stretches and tries to get her paddle under it. She does but it deflects the ball into the fence behind them.
“That would have been out,” Alton says, his face red and sweaty. “Didn’t you hear me yell at you?”
That’s it. I head toward the net. “We all heard you yell at her.”
He ignores me, glaring at Ruby, and as I step over the net, he’s not letting it go. “This isn’t a hard sport, but you have to pay attention.”
I stop between them and put a hand on Alton’s chest with enough pressure to make him take a step back. “Get out of her face.”
I haven’t looked at Ruby yet, because if I don’t like what I see in her expression, I might punch another person in the face for the first time.
Alton moves my hand. “We’re fine. Just some in-game intensity.”
I risk a look at her. If this was Niles, she’d be smoothing this over, trying to cajole him into a different mood. But when I meet her eyes, she nods at me.
“Game over,” she says.
“No one is winning yet,” Alton says, stepping toward Ruby. I hold my hand up as a warning that I’ll remove him from her space again if he gets any closer.
“Game over and date over,” she says.
I take her paddle and shove it against his chest, forcing him to grab it so it doesn’t fall.
“Lose her number,” I tell him. “Sydney, ready to go?”
She scoops up my paddle and jogs over to hand both of ours to Alton, who bobbles them.
“Bye,” she says, wiggling her fingers at Alton before she slips her arm through Ruby’s.
“I like you,” Ruby says.
“So mutual,” Sydney says.
I slide my hands in my pockets and stroll off the court behind them, not bothering with a backward glance.
“Ava does not win,” I say as we exit the gate.
“She loses big time,” Ruby says. “And she owes me chocolate.”
We head to the parking lot and stop at Ruby’s car. I turn to Sydney. “How do you feel about driving my car to your place? I’ll make sure Ruby gets home and take a Lyft over to you.”
“No way,” Ruby says. “I appreciate you, Chuck, but I’m fine, and I can get myself home fine. You should finish your date.”
Sydney slides her arm from Ruby’s and slips it through mine. “Works for me.”
I watch Ruby for any signs of jealousy, but she only nods.
“Cool,” she says, opening her door. “Have fun, kids.”
Sydney waits until Ruby has driven off before she lets go of me. “Charlie?”
Her tone is gentle. Resigned.
“Yes, partner-in-stupid-crime?” I brace myself for whatever she feels reluctant to tell me.
She glances in the direction Ruby disappeared before meeting my eyes again. “Bad news. That date didn’t go well for anyone. We need to talk.”