CHAPTER 5 #2
Something flickered across her face, surprise, maybe, or something softer.
She smiled, and this time, it felt warmer.
“Thank you. I saw the clip of you during the match,” she said, shifting to lean against the door.
“You're always kind of hard to read, but it’s cool seeing you there. Makes the match feel bigger when players like you are watching.”
I glanced away, feeling heat creep up the back of my neck. Compliments always landed strangely with me.
“Yeah, well,” I said, clearing my throat, eyes flicking anywhere but hers, “Guess I’m not as unreadable as people think.” I forced a small smile, one that felt more honest than I wanted it to. “You played incredible tennis. Hard not to get caught up in it.”
For a second, neither of us said anything. The noise of the ballroom behind the glass faded to a hum, and all I could focus on was the way she looked at me, steady, curious, like she was trying to figure me out.
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something.
Before she could get the words out, it hit me, her manager. The thought came like a jolt, breaking the spell.
“Oh, right, your manager,” I blurted, a little too fast, latching onto the distraction. “Just turn left at the end, it’s the second door past the staircase. Big gold plaque.”
“Thanks,” Olivia replied, offering a smile as she moved toward the sliding door.
She reached for the handle and tried to slide it open. Nothing.
She frowned and tugged again, harder this time. The muscles in her arm flexed under the soft fabric of her sleeve, and for a heartbeat, I forgot why I was standing like a weirdo.
“...Uh,” she murmured in a low and almost uncertain tone. “Is this thing jammed?”
Her words snapped me back to reality like someone had tapped the side of my brain and reminded me I was, in fact, a conscious human being.
“Shit.” I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as the realization hit. “Not again,” I said, half in disbelief, half in that of course this would happen with her here kind of way.
“Again?” she asked, brows lifting, and suddenly it felt like the door wasn’t the only thing jammed; it was everything in me, caught between wanting to look away and not being able to.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Uh… last year. I snuck out here for air, like tonight, and it got stuck.” I winced. “A staff guy eventually came out carrying a tray of champagne and helped me wedge the door open with a dessert fork.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head, cheeks warming. “Unfortunately… very real story. I’ve never respected a dessert fork more in my life.”
Before she could react, I stepped beside her to try the door myself. The space between us tightened immediately.
Okay. Breathe. Be normal. Do not malfunction. Do not stare at her cheekbones. Or her shoulders. Or anything, actually.
I try to open the door a few times, pretending to focus on it even though my pulse has picked up its own tempo. The door rattled but didn’t budge. Perfect. Fantastic. Thank you, universe, for this highly controlled emotional crisis.
“No staff this time though,” I said, forcing a dry laugh that I prayed didn’t betray anything. “This part of the ballroom doesn’t really get much foot traffic. Everyone sticks to the main floor.”
“So… we’re stuck,” she said slowly.
“Looks like it.”
I leaned against the doorframe, letting out a slow breath I hoped sounded casual. It didn’t feel casual. Not even close. I was stuck on a balcony with the girl I’d had a crush on since we were nine, and my body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo to behave.
“You knew this door got stuck last year, and you still came out here again?”
“I needed air,” I said. “Didn’t think it’d betray me twice.”
She gave a short, frustrated exhale and ran a hand through her hair. “God, I was supposed to check in with Maddie. She’s going to think I disappeared or passed out in a champagne fountain or something.”
I stayed quiet, watching her; the way frustration flushed across her cheeks, the way she tried to hide how tired she actually was. And yes, it was hard not to stare. But proximity does strange things to rational thought, especially when it’s her.
She pressed her hands to her hips. “This is ridiculous. Why does this part of the venue even exist if no one comes out here?”
“Peace and suffering,” I offered dryly, mostly to keep myself from overthinking.
She turned toward me, half a glare, half disbelief. “Seriously? You’re making jokes?”
Her tone was sharp, but something underneath it hummed, maybe exhaustion. And despite myself, I felt a small smile pull at my lips. I couldn’t help it; Olivia’s frustration was… honestly kind of attractive. “What? You want me to panic too?”
Her gaze lingered on me a beat too long, like she couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused, before she let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
She exhaled hard and crossed her arms. “This is actually insane. Who walks back into a broken balcony door situation twice?”
“I like to live on the edge,”
She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Right. Because jammed glass doors are known to heal themselves overnight.”
So she had some bite. I didn’t know why that surprised me. On court, she was all precision and calm, but this version of her trying to yank open a door felt maybe a little cute. (Not that I’d admit it out loud.)
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “Hey, maybe I’m an optimist.”
That earned me a snort. “That’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been working on my stand-up routine. Planning to take it on tour if I ever get tired of tennis.”
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her. “Trapped with a brooding introvert queen and bad jokes. Great.”
I let out a soft laugh, letting myself relax into the banter a little. “Well, it’s either that or we start practicing our escape plan. Unless you’ve got a crowbar hidden in that dress?”
Her smile widened, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I wasn’t the only one enjoying this ridiculous balcony moment.
She glanced back at the jammed door, then at the empty balcony, the grin softening into something more resigned. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she leaned her head against the glass.
“Got any more jokes?” she asked, eyes closed for a moment, like she was bracing herself.
I paused. “No, but if we’re stuck here long enough, I might start screaming for help.”
Her eyes snapped open, narrowing. “Please don’t.”
“Then you’d better pray someone comes looking for you first.”
That earned the faintest laugh. We both fell quiet after that, the sounds of the party distant through the glass.
After a beat, she let out a breath and glanced at me. “Okay, but do you at least have your phone?”
I reached for the small clutch I’d left by the railing, pretending my fingers weren’t shaking. “Yeah... but don’t get your hopes up.” I showed her the screen. “No signal. This part of the venue’s a dead zone.”
She let her head fall back. “Of course it is.”
“I mean, it’s atmospheric,” I offered, tilting my head. “Very... two idiots trapped on a palace balcony kind of vibe.”
Amusement flickered across her face. “Idiots, huh?” she said, arms crossing casually. “Interesting choice of words.”
“I—I meant it affectionately,” I managed, hoping the earth would open and swallow me before I rambled myself into a grave.
She huffed a soft laugh through her nose, the kind that somehow made me even more flustered.
“I only ever see this kind of thing in rom-coms. Two strangers accidentally locked out somewhere ridiculous, forced to talk.” She gave me a sideways look. “Didn’t expect it to happen to me. Definitely didn’t expect it to happen with another tennis player on tour.”
My brain short-circuited at rom-com and me being in the same sentence, but I swallowed and attempted to appear functional.
“So… you’re a rom-com person then?” I asked, while knowing full well I had absolutely no idea what counted as a rom-com.
Which was impressive, honestly, considering my brain was currently screaming Oh god, Olivia Smythe is talking romcoms to me, and don’t stare at her lips, don’t stare at her lips.
“Yes, sometimes. Depends on the mood.” She glanced at me, a teasing spark in her eyes. “And what about you… Are you a rom-com person too, or do you just judge them from afar?”
“Not really my thing,” I admitted. “I’ve never really watched any. Unless you count that one airplane movie where two people argue for two hours and then kiss because the plane hits turbulence. But that felt more like a safety hazard than romance.”
“So you’re telling me you’re giving rom-com reviews based on in-flight entertainment?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes,” I said, nodding firmly. “My expertise is very limited, but extremely confident. I rate that movie… three out of five oxygen masks.”
She actually laughed harder at that, leaning slightly toward me. The sound was warm, effortless, and my chest did that stupid, familiar flip-flop thing.
“Wow,” she said, still smiling. “That’s… creative.”
“Just doing my part to contribute absolutely nothing of cinematic value.” I said, shrugging.
She muttered something under her breath, then she remembered that we are supposed to be stuck here. “Okay. We cannot just stand here like idiots all night. I refuse to be rescued in heels like a helpless extra in a romcom.”
I met her gaze. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She tilted her head, a teasing spark in her eyes. “You really don’t have any idea what happens in a rom-com movie, do you?”
“Uhmmm…” I faltered.
“You need to watch more of them. Maybe then you’d learn that getting trapped somewhere usually leads to some kind of grand romantic moment.”
“Right,” I said, slipping into dry humor because it was the only thing keeping me from combusting. “Well, if this were a rom-com, I’d probably… I don’t know… just jump off the balcony and get help. Save us some time, you know? Very efficient.”
Her eyes flicked over me then. “You’d make a terrible rom-com lead, Cadiz.”
For a split second, my brain tried to decipher every possible meaning behind that sentence. Was she teasing? Was that an insult? A compliment? A cosmic sign? Oh God, stop overthinking.
I shoved the thought aside. So I pulled out another joke before my heart could explode.
“Unless you actually want me to jump off the balcony and get help. Because I will, purely for thematic accuracy.”
Her eyes widened. “Please don’t. I’m not dealing with headlines like: Alexandra Cadiz Jumps Off Balcony at Champions Dinner After Door Gets Stuck.” She shook her head. “That’s a scandal I’m not getting dragged into.”
I snorted. “Yeah, you’re probably right. And my mom would absolutely kill me.”
I scanned the balcony again, trying to focus on something practical and anything that might get us out of here. My brain was doing somersaults (partly from panic, mostly from the fact that Olivia was right here). And honestly, for my own sanity, I needed a plan, fast.
I saw a black parasol with a gold tip leaning against the plant, more decorative than useful. An idea sparked. I straightened and walked over to it.
Olivia eyed me suspiciously. “You’re looking at that umbrella as if it owes you money.”
“I have a plan.” I grabbed the parasol, testing its weight. “If the metal on this thing’s sturdy enough,” I continued, “I might be able to use it as a crowbar, pry the latch up.”
“You want to break open a door with a parasol?” She sounded scandalized and amused in the same breath.
I held it up like a makeshift sword. “I want to liberate us with resourcefulness and mild property damage.”
She stared as if I’d announced plans to leap off the balcony. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” The parasol felt absurdly weighty in my hands. I could see her watching every tiny movement, the way her pupils dilated when she leaned forward.
“We are not using a decorative parasol as a weapon.”
“Why not? It’s Wimbledon tradition to do something dramatic in formalwear, right?”
“That’s not a tradition. That’s just you.”
“I’ve decided it’s a tradition now,” I said, hands already on the parasol, getting ready.
She sighed, “If it breaks, I’m telling everyone this was your idea.”
“Good. Then maybe someone will actually come open the door.”
She winced. “Okay, okay, let me help before you destroy everything, and we both end up on a banned list. And please don’t impale yourself,” she said, only half joking.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my chest was hammering. Olivia’s hands on the frame grounded me, and I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her, wondering if she noticed how ridiculous I probably looked, leaning over a decorative umbrella like a secret agent who’d forgotten her lines.
A tense moment of silence stretched between us, long enough for me to mentally rehearse every possible disaster scenario, from collapsing onto the balcony floor to accidentally poking Olivia. Then, with a loud pop and a satisfying click, the latch gave way.
Olivia let out a mock dramatic sigh. “I was starting to think someone would have to send a search party with a stretcher.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, though it sounded strangled and nervous. “Yeah, we’re lucky it didn’t happen yet.”
She gave me a sideways grin. “You know, Cadiz, you might actually survive a rom-com… if your supporting lead was competent enough to pry you off the scenery first.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but all I could think was: I’m standing right here with Olivia Smythe, and she’s making a joke at me. At me. How is this my life?
Instead, I settled for a dry shrug. “I’ll add that to my résumé: Professional Balcony Survivor. Not to be confused with actual tennis skills.”
She laughed again, soft and teasing, and I swear my chest could barely handle it.
We stepped back inside like nothing had happened, calm, composed, definitely not two people who had just crowbarred their way out of a locked balcony with a decorative umbrella.
The music had picked up again, glasses clinked across the ballroom, and the moment we’d just had already felt like a strange, private pocket of time. No one seemed to have noticed our disappearance, or our grand escape.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d enjoyed being trapped with her. It had been stupidly reckless and a little bit thrilling, but I’d felt alive in a way I hadn’t in weeks.
I forced a breath and turned the other way, letting the crowd swallow me whole.
Maybe I’d find a drink, maybe an exit, maybe something to stop my thoughts from circling back to her.
And maybe if I were smart, I’d avoid any more locked doors for the rest of the night.
Still, I couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips.
Because for all the chaos and all the pretending, I knew one thing for sure: I wouldn’t be forgetting that balcony or her anytime soon.