CHAPTER 13 #3
“So,” I said, tilting my head just enough to sound curious but not too eager, “Do you always drag people to cafés that look like they belong in an indie film, or is this a… special occasion?”
She let out a soft, amused hum, eyes flicking up to mine. “Depends. How often do you go to a cafe that is rented out for lunch?”
I smirked. “Not often. I’d say it’s pretty extravagant for a regular Tuesday.”
Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer than necessary, and I felt a little spark, the one that made my fingers fidget against the cup. “Or maybe,” she said slowly, “You just haven’t had the right company.”
“Is that an invitation, or are you just flattering yourself?”
She chuckled, resting her arms on the table. “What can I say? I’ve got good taste. Besides, this is my little hideout when the training grind gets too loud. No one bothers me here.”
My brows rose. “So you’re saying I should feel honored? Exclusive access to the Alexandra Cadiz secret café?”
“Exactly,” she said with mock gravity.
Just then, the waitress arrived with our plates, a vibrant spread of colorful salads, perfectly toasted sourdough, and a side of golden, crispy fries that smelled like heaven.
The food looked as fresh as the atmosphere around us, the kind of thing that would definitely end up on someone’s Instagram story if either of us were reckless enough to post.
Alex eyed her plate, then flicked her gaze back at me with a curious smile. “How’s the wrist holding up? You still planning to come back for the US Open?”
I speared a tomato, took my time chewing just to annoy her, then finally answered. “It’s better since yesterday, slowly but surely. I’m not rushing anything, but yeah, I want to be back. Can’t miss the US Open, it’s a big deal.”
She nodded, her expression softening into something almost protective. “I’ll be rooting for you. No doubt.”
“You’re not rooting for yourself?”
She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Honestly? I’m not trying to win right now. My goal’s just to get back in shape, find my rhythm again. If I make it to the quarters at the Open, that’s a bonus. But for now, it’s baby steps.”
I tilted my head, grinning. “Well, you’d better root for me. You were my bench cheerleader at Wimbledon, remember? How could you not be rooting for me?”
That earned me a sharp blush across her cheeks, and I almost dropped my fork laughing.
“Oh please,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead like she could hide behind it. “Just forget that ever happened.”
“Uh, never,” I shot back immediately. “Honestly, how could I forget? Alexandra Wilson-Cadiz sat on the bench, cheering me on at the Wimbledon Final. Now that’s a moment you don’t forget.”
She pointed a finger at me accusingly. “For the record, I wasn’t bench cheering. I was… emotionally supporting. There’s a difference.”
“Emotionally supporting?” I laughed. “You were practically doing fist-pumps after every point. I half-expected you to break out with those little cheer balls.”
Alex groaned louder. “You’re evil.”
“I should’ve had that framed. Forget trophies, just put up a poster of you yelling your lungs out for me in Centre Court.” I teased, leaning back smugly.
She raised an eyebrow, lips curving. “Oh, so now you want me to be your personal hype squad? Should I start practicing dance moves or what?”
My chest tightened at the way she said it so casually. I tilted my head, voice soft but teasing. “Is this your usual routine with everyone, or am I just the lucky one?”
Her grin turned sly. “Only for the truly special ones.”
I let out a quiet laugh, resting my chin on my hand. “Special ones, huh? Should I be flattered or worried?”
She studied me with infuriating amusement, her tone light but edged with something else. “Definitely flattered. Worrying ruins the fun.”
The comment made my pulse quicken, though I tried to play it cool. “If that’s your secret weapon, maybe I should show you mine, my charm. It’s been known to be dangerously effective.”
Her eyes lit up, curious, almost challenging. “Should I be excited?”
I brushed a lock of hair back, lips curving. “Can you handle a little risk?”
“I like living on the edge.” Her smile came slowly and deliberately.
For a moment, it felt like the whole café faded away. Her smile wasn’t just playful; it carried the weight of a dare.
I cleared my throat lightly. “My charm has distracted even the best players.”
She chuckled, though her eyes stayed locked on mine. “Lucky for you, I’m not one of the best players. So I guess I’m immune.” She paused, then added softly, “But... I’ll take my chances.”
Heat rose in me, impossible to hide. My breath hitched before I could stop it, though outwardly I kept my face calm.
I forced myself to steady. It’s just banter, I reminded myself.
We’d only just started finding this rhythm, testing each other’s edges.
Nothing serious. At least, that’s what I tried to believe, even if my heart wasn’t exactly playing along.
So I shifted gears, picking up my fork with a deliberately light grin. “Anyway, this salad is actually pretty great. You were right, this one’s a winner.”
A teasing smile tugged at her lips. “Of course it is. I told you to trust me. I take my food choices and my company very seriously.”
After that, we lingered a little longer, trading thoughts about the foods and lattes, debating what made the perfect lunch or the smoothest espresso shot.
The conversation wasn’t about tennis or pressure or expectations, just food, small jokes, and the kind of easy banter that slipped into place without effort.
It felt… ordinary in the best way, like discovering a quiet rhythm in the middle of all the chaos.
Eventually, Alex glanced at her watch and let out a soft sigh. “As much as I’d love to stay, my coach would kill me if I missed training. Seriously, he’s not the forgiving type.”
I nodded, understanding all too well the pull of routine and preparation. “Of course. Thanks for making the time, Alex. This was… really nice. Maybe we should do it again sometime.”
Her smile warmed, lingering just a beat longer than casual. “Yeah, it was. And maybe next time, we ditch the whole bet thing.”
I laughed under my breath, feeling a spark catch somewhere I wasn’t ready to name. “Deal.”
We gathered our things and stepped out into the late afternoon sun, the city humming gently around us. Maddie was waiting by our car just down the street, arms crossed with that teasing grin she always wore when she thought she’d already pieced together a secret. Honestly, she probably did.
Alex’s car was parked neatly at the curb, every inch aligned perfectly with the sidewalk. She definitely knows how to park, I thought, the familiar flutter of admiration sneaking in. A detail like that felt so… her.