Chapter 23 Now
Now
@ainsleygreenwrites: Meet-cute attempt: run club edition. Tripped over my own feet, ate pavement, and my supposed best friend (and cameraman) laughed before helping me up.
Comments:
@Tinder: maybe you should try downloading us instead ??
@samanthajoneswannabe: not the friends-to-lovers foreshadowing
@stacysmom: cardio AND public humiliation?? couldn’t be me
When Maddie texts us on Thursday afternoon, I stare at my phone like it just insulted me.
Maddie: Clear your calendars tomorrow, we’re going to Courts and Coffee!
Ainsley: Courts and what??
Maddie: Pickleball. Coffee. Mostly singles who are all vaguely hot and vaguely employed (enough to sneak away at 9 a.m. on a Friday)
Maddie: You’ve definitely seen it on TikTok
Ainsley: I’m afraid…
Maddie: Don’t be, it’s fun! Plus it’s very on brand for your cereal aisle quest
Maddie: Also, Lucas, do you have a friend you can bring for doubles? Bonus points if he’s hot
Lucas: I’m hot
Maddie: You don’t count! Bring backup
Lucas: Fine, I’ll see what I can do
I leave the group chat on read, not because I’m annoyed but because my anxiety spikes instantly. The word singles makes my stomach drop, sure. But what really does it is one resounding question.
What if Cole’s there?
Not because he’d sign up for a singles mixer but because these are the same courts where he used to play in his league.
Friday mornings, or maybe it was Thursday?
I can’t remember anymore. What if he still plays here, and I run straight into him without warning?
The thought lands like a slow punch to the gut.
I don’t know his schedule anymore—what time he wakes up, what coffee creamer he buys, whether he still works in tech or switched careers entirely.
I don’t know his life anymore, and somehow that unknown is worse than knowing.
How am I supposed to move on when a part of me still assumes he could be everywhere?
I toss my phone onto the couch. Winston lifts his head briefly from his bed, then drops it again with a grunt, like even he’s exhausted by my nonsense.
“I know,” I tell him. “I hate the idea too.”
But still, the next morning, I show up.
* * *
The pickleball bar is a lot. Paddles on the walls, branded courts that definitely weren’t cheap, and a drink menu full of pickleball puns, like kitchen rules and match point mocha.
Everything smells like sweat, oat milk, and competition.
Maddie loops her arm through mine like she’s marching me toward destiny, while Lucas trails behind with another guy I definitely recognize.
“Aaron,” I say as we stop at the counter. “Wow, it’s been forever.”
He grins. “At least since graduation. Good to see you, Ainsley.”
While Lucas introduces Maddie and Aaron, I slip my phone from my bag and flip it to selfie mode.
“Okay,” I whisper to the camera, angling it to catch my outfit.
“My next meet-cute experience involves more physical activity, so everyone please pray for me. We’re at a pickleball bar that hosts something called Courts and Coffee.
The idea is simple—cute outfit, friendly competition, maybe lock eyes with someone on another court.
Should I try only one racket? Is that a thing?
I don’t even know. Wish me luck.” I pan the lens toward Lucas, who’s standing a few feet away, pretending not to listen.
“And of course, I’ve got my favorite cameraman slash narrator with me. Say hi, Lucas.”
He immediately leans into the frame. “I can’t wait to see how this all plays out. Get it?”
“Boooo. We get it,” I reply before tucking the phone on a nearby table angled toward our court.
We split into pairs: Maddie and Aaron against me and Lucas. Unsurprisingly, I am terrible. I miss the ball twice, hit it into the net once, and then swing so hard I nearly decapitate Lucas.
“Jesus, Ainsley!” he says, ducking. “I like my face the way it is.”
“Sorry!” I hiss, already flushing.
But before I can regain my dignity, the ball from the next court rockets over the divider. I dart forward at the same time someone else does, and we collide.
Hard.
My paddle clatters to the ground. I stumble backward, landing on my tailbone with a wince.
“Oh my god,” the guy says, crouching down immediately. He’s tall, sporting a backward hat and a gorgeous smile. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Lucas is suddenly right there, kneeling on my other side.
“She’s fine,” he says, already offering me his hand. “You good, Ains?”
I blink, caught between them. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”
The cute guy hovers for another second until Lucas hauls me up, steadying me with both hands on my arms. By the time I glance back, he’s already retreated to his court.
I exhale and can feel my cheeks burning.
The fact that not one but two of my meet-cute experiences have almost landed me in the emergency room is a sign that I need to stay away from any and all things that require a basic level of sportiness.
Maddie jogs over, eyes dancing. “Well, that was a waste.”
“What?” I ask.
“You had the perfect meet-cute, and Lucas came charging in like your bodyguard,” she says before turning to Lucas. “You were supposed to let Pickleball Prince sweep her off her feet, not act like her bodyguard. You’re here to be a wingman, remember?”
Lucas shrugs, unapologetic. “Sorry for making sure she didn’t break her butt or something.”
“Let’s just keep playing,” Maddie mutters, shaking her head.
I roll my eyes, but when I glance at Lucas, it’s hard to tell if my heart’s racing from the fall or from him, the concern written across his face.
After a few more rounds and more misses than I can count, we surrender our paddles and collapse at a corner table with melting iced coffees.
My ankle is throbbing, Maddie’s cheeks are flushed, Aaron looks like he could play another two hours, and now that my safety has been confirmed, Lucas hasn’t stopped laughing since I got onto the court.
“Not bad for your first time,” Aaron says kindly.
“Lies,” Lucas mutters into his drink.
Maddie shoots him a look, more curious than cutting. “She did great.” Then, softer to me, says, “Seriously though, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Emotionally concussed maybe, but fine.”
Lucas grins. “Good, because I’ve already got an idea for the caption: Zero love, one concussion.”
“Lucas!” Maddie snorts, swatting at him from across the table.
“Okay, okay,” Lucas laughs. “What about The only thing I scored today was a bruise? Oh or Courtside chemistry: none. Comedy: plenty.”
I roll my eyes. “Give it a rest already. We get that your pun game is strong.”
“Stronger than your pickleball game, that’s for sure,” Lucas says.
Aaron smirks. “I’ll give him that one.”
Maddie leans across the table, eyes narrowing at Lucas. “You do realize you blocked her shot at a literal sports-rom-com moment, right? Pickleball Prince was about to swoop in.”
I force a laugh, but the truth is Maddie isn’t wrong. Yet when I replay the moment in my head, I don’t picture Pickleball Prince’s smile. I picture Lucas’s hand closing firmly around mine.
* * *
After a shower, I settle into my desk with another cup of coffee, thinking about the pickleball match.
Thinking about Cole playing, his Instagram story panning over to my friends, paddles in their hands.
I sigh. The only upside to not being over how different my life is yet is that I’m still feeling everything.
And feelings, for me, have always been the easiest thing to put on the page.
I don’t know what this hundred-and-something-page document about Cole is turning into or if it’ll ever become anything at all.
But even with all the meet-cutes and cheesy social media points, it’s the only thing I’ve been able to write.
Really write. So for now, I’m just going to keep going.
After all, I’m pretty close to the big breakup scene.