Chapter 7
Seven
“And what do we have here?” Hallie raised her voice and let out a whistle as Sydney reached the front lobby of the inn, attracting the attention of a younger couple grabbing coffee from the drinks station.
Sydney rolled her eyes but gave the two guests a small wave.
Even if her professional career was over, she still had a little decorum in the event that she was recognized.
She was best known within the tennis world, but some of her endorsements, along with magazine and commercial exposure, had made her more of a household name than she’d expected, so she’d learned to be mindful.
It was Tuesday morning, and Sydney was up at the crack of ten, dressed in a casual tennis outfit, her bag slung over her shoulder.
She felt good, her leg in a snug brace, her muscles loose from an hour of stretching that showed her just how out of shape she’d grown over the past month.
Sydney stopped at the desk Hallie was positioned behind, leaning on her forearm. “Are you trying to wake the whole neighborhood?”
Hallie took a sip of coffee and peered over the cup, looking at Sydney intently. “It’s closer to noon than sunrise, my sweet summer child.”
“Can you blame me for taking advantage of the first time in my life that I don’t have to be up at six a.m. every day?” She inhaled a deep breath, savoring the scent of the clean, fresh air that seemed to infuse the inn.
Hallie gestured broadly, almost knocking over her coffee. “We aim to please here at The Stone’s Throw Inn. Early mornings. Late nights,” she said with a wink. “We’ve got you covered.”
Upon her exhale, Sydney’s deep breath morphed into a sigh. “You know it’s not like that. I’ve been taking walks around town in the evenings.”
“You’re no fun,” Hallie pouted, eyes searching Sydney’s for any sign of deceit. “I’m trying to live vicariously through you. I at least thought this little pep in your step was because you got laid or something.”
Sydney shook her head. “I assume you mean with Reese, but no, I haven’t seen her.”
She wasn’t lying to her best friend. She hadn’t seen Reese since Sunday, when they’d gone their separate ways after the party.
She tried not to dwell on that. Their agreement didn’t involve any non-family functions, or even an expectation of friendship, which Sydney was in no position to push.
“She’s been squirreled away in the office this week, reviewing all of the financials and the operating reports for the last…” Hallie started counting on her fingers. “Oh, forty years.”
“Is she finding anything good?” Sydney asked, leaning forward. “Maybe receipts on flooded bathrooms from that private swimming pool we tried to make?”
Hallie waved her off. “That’s water under the bridge—or, carpet, I guess,” she finished with a laugh.
Sydney laughed, too, thinking through the weekly torture they had accidentally enacted on the Thatchers. “God, we put your parents through it.”
“They loved it. ”
“Did they? Trying to make a family-owned business work while we were playing Eloise at the Plaza ?”
Hallie looked around, a softness in her eyes. “Seems like it all netted out on the positive side for them. Their retirement is well funded, and they’re sitting pretty on a patio in Boulder with their grandbabies.”
Sydney followed Hallie’s gaze to a doorway where they’d marked their heights every year in childhood. “And what about you? Are you netting out where you want?”
Hallie was one of those unflappably buoyant people who seemed to let life roll off their backs like water off a duck.
She’d never complained once about losing her best friend beginning junior year so that Sydney could train full-time. And when her parents had started traveling to Colorado more, she’d happily stayed behind to keep the inn going.
Sydney was realizing that she’d taken Hallie’s positivity for granted. She saw her as a best friend who’d always been her rock, seemingly without her own choppy seas ever throwing them off course.
Sydney finally allowed herself to relax when she saw a genuine smile flit across Hallie’s lips. “I am. If I stay at the inn, it’s because I want to, not out of some familial obligation. I think that’s pretty positive.”
She made a mental note to have a more serious conversation with Hallie soon, about how her friend was feeling with so many big changes in her life.
“So, what are you getting up to?” Hallie asked, deftly changing the subject as she looked at the racket bag still slung across Sydney’s shoulder.
“I was thinking of heading over to Manhaven.”
“Wow, you’re a real glutton for punishment lately,” Hallie said with a light laugh as she plucked at the sweatband Sydney wore on her right wrist. “Honestly, I’m just glad you weren’t planning to go out to our court. It’s definitely in need of some sprucing up.”
Sydney winced. That was putting it mildly. She’d walked by the tennis court last night, near the edge of the property. It wasn’t unsalvageable, but there were cracks in the court, and the net was sagging in the middle like someone had spent a few hours—or years—using it as a hammock.
“Well, until Reese decides to focus on the finer amenities of this establishment, Manhaven it is.”
Manhaven Tennis Center, where she’d spent more hours than she did at home growing up, was one of fewer than ten full-time, high-performance training programs in the United States that catered to taking young athletes to the next level of play.
By the age of twelve, Sydney was taking private lessons at the center four times a week. Instead of completing her last two years of high school at Stoneport, she’d switched to virtual learning and started training six hours a day, five days a week.
She had been lucky to live less than a twenty-minute drive from a place that had the coaches and experience needed to help shape her into the player she’d become.
Unlike a few other full-time program participants she’d trained with, she’d still been able to live at home in Stoneport, so her life had been minimally disrupted.
She still got to see Hallie in the evenings and on weekends, and the Thatcher family had allowed her to use the tennis court at the inn for a few hours every Saturday and in the evenings when it was closed to the guests.
Her success was partially a result of hard work and dedication, but it wouldn’t have been possible without people who’d believed in her, supported her, and allowed her to become the best version of herself—professionally-speaking, at least.
Apparently she’d missed the lesson where she picked better partners, but she shrugged the thought off as quickly as it flitted through her mind.
When she’d gone to Walker College, lured by the promise of a full-ride—and at the significant pushing of her parents to get a four-year degree instead of heading right to the pro circuit—their tennis regimen had seemed like a breeze.
Sydney looked at the clock, double-checking the time. “I’ve gotta get going.”
Hallie looked toward the door that led to the small office where she sometimes worked. “Not going to say bye to your girlfriend?”
A dead-eyed stare was the first response her best friend got before Sydney finally added, “I know that my life is a comedy of errors right now.”
“At least it’s not a tragedy,” Hallie said with a nonplussed shrug.
“Verdict’s still out.”
On Sunday night, she’d come back and regaled Hallie with the highlights of the day, including Tripp offering Reese up on a platter as a bridesmaid to the wedding gods, a pathetic attempt to curry favor with Stan Fitzpatrick, whom Sydney had liked immediately.
She’d held back in her retelling, though, wondering if the thoughts unsaid had only been in her own mind.
She’d liked spending time with Reese. Had enjoyed their closeness, had loved the softness of her skin and how comfortable it had felt to have a protective arm draped around her waist during the party.
Maybe she would have mentioned those things to Hallie, but the ride back from the party had been quiet, Reese more withdrawn than she’d been earlier in the day.
For whatever thrill Sydney was getting from this situation, complicating things by pushing the boundaries of a woman she actually knew very little about probably wasn’t a smart decision.
They’d parted ways with a promise from Reese to let her know about this weekend.
Sydney’s calendar was wide open, as it usually was these days, but she hadn’t heard from Reese yet.
She made a mental note to text her later and confirm whether they’d be making the trek to an even more well-to-do part of the coast .
Sydney wrapped her knuckles on the smooth wood. “I’ll see you later?”
Hallie, who’d started focusing intently on something happening on her laptop, spared her a glance before looking back down at the screen in front of her. “Count on it, bestie.”
And with that, Sydney walked out to her car and began the short drive to a place that had become a second home.
Sydney inhaled deeply as she stepped into the Manhaven Tennis Center.
There was a distinct smell in tennis complexes that never changed over time: a mix of rubber from the tennis balls, disinfectant to keep the courts clean, and a light combination of antiperspirant and sweat that mingled into a smell sort of like the coast on a slightly cold day.
She loved it.
When she set foot on a court, it was like the scent triggered her body to relax, her muscles already starting to anticipate moving with the rhythm of play.
She could hear the pop of the balls as they released from the tennis ball launcher, her ears tuning into the difference between some players connecting their racket with the ball outside of the sweet spot and those who were able to hit in the perfect center, a melodious thwack that was one of her favorite sounds.
Her fingers twitched against her sides, already anticipating holding her racket; the way her fingers would wrap around the grip, shifting her hand’s placement millimeters at a time to execute the perfect hit.