Page 19

M oths dipped and dodged in the glaring overhead LED lights.

All twenty of the pickleball courts were full, and loud cheers blended with the thwack of hard paddles on plastic wiffle balls.

Taylor Swift blasted from the speaker on one of the picnic tables under the awning littered with plastic water bottles and empty beer and hard seltzer cans.

“Thanks for putting on this event.” Dr. Markowitz sat in a folding chair, his leg elevated on a red Igloo cooler. “I’ve missed this crazy group.”

“They’ve all missed you too,” Endy spoke loudly, over the din. “How are you healing up?”

“Too slowly, if you ask me. But that is typical for Achilles tendon tears on us old folks.”

Endy put her hand on Steven’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Rumor has it that some of the club members are trying to get pickleball shut down,” Steven said, sipping from an insulated pint glass, the ice cubes clinking inside.

“Yeah, it seems that with pickleball, people either love it or hate it. But what I don’t understand is why the haters hate it so much that they want to get rid of it.” On the courts in front of them, players stepped in and out, taking their turns at play.

Steven answered loudly. “It’s the tennis purists.

All those original homeowners who bought property here because Whisper Hills was the premier tennis club in the desert.

” He sipped his drink. “They all rubbed shoulders with the likes of Jimmy Connors and Boris Becker when they’d come over here and practice.

And then afterward, the homeowners would host the pros at these swanky poolside parties in their homes.

Everyone had a crystal champagne glass in their hand and a Dunlop tennis bag in their hall closet. ”

Endy sighed. Tennis purists—it made sense.

And it was worrisome. What about her job?

Endy had put in a ton of work over the past couple of years, building the pickleball community inside the club.

Although her title was assistant director of racquet sports, Endy didn’t really have much experience on the tennis side of things.

She managed and oversaw programs in pickleball and, yes, tennis, but really, Joel was the tennis pro and did all the instruction.

If the pickleball program was scrubbed at Whisper Hills, would her position even be necessary any longer? Would she be let go?

Steven swirled the ice cubes in his cup and then gestured in the vicinity of a large Spanish-style house across the street.

Endy looked beyond to a heavy, ornate wrought iron gate flanked by bright white stucco walls and a roof topped by terra-cotta tiles.

A manicured desert garden of succulents and agaves surrounded a bubbling two-tiered fountain under a line of sky-high palm trees.

A four-car garage wrapped around the side, with one of the doors smaller, in miniature, for housing a golf cart.

“Speaking of tennis purists, that was the very first property built here,” Steven continued. “The Tennysons’.”

“Like, as in Barbara Tennyson?” Endy’s eyes opened wide.

Hollers filled the air across the pickleball court for another player to come fill an empty position as Paul Rothman limped toward them.

“Dehydrated,” was the reply to the unasked question. Paul lifted Steven’s leg from the cooler and pulled out a dripping Gatorade, cracked the lid off, and guzzled.

“Did I hear you two talking about the Tennysons?” Paul asked, as he dug a towel out from his bag, then mopped at his forehead and face.

Endy nodded as she handed Paul a banana. “You need potassium.”

“Yeah, Barbara and her husband, Clive, were among the original Whisper Hills Country Club members,” Paul continued.

“Clive was a top 25 player in his day—professional from England. Barbara traveled to all his tournaments with him for years, but then he retired and they moved here to raise their kids.”

Steven nodded. “None of their kids got the tennis bug, but Clive was out here playing every day and—”

“—and Barbara would sit on that bench over there and watch.” Paul pointed with the banana to a carved wood bench overlooking the far pickleball courts, closest to the pro shop building.

Endy saw a small bronze plaque affixed to the bench back, winking in the overhead lights.

“Every match. She watched every single match.”

“But you said none of their kids played tennis?” asked Endy.

“No, the Tennyson daughter got married and really wasn’t around much,” Steven answered with a shrug. “But I guess one of the grandkids picked it up and was supposedly pretty good.”

“Huh,” replied Endy. “I wonder what ever happened to them.”

“Probably living a life of leisure, while we’ve been working our fingers to the bone,” Steven said, pretending to wipe his tears away.

“You were a plastic surgeon.” Paul jostled Steven’s chair. “And you retired at age forty-nine with plenty of meat on your fingers.”

“I didn’t retire,” sniffed Steven. “I merely cut back my hours.”

The dozens of pickleballers continued playing in rotation.

During their brief pauses in between matches, they’d gather at the tables under the awning, guzzling water and sipping beer, wine, or hard seltzers.

Louder even than the booming music, their joyful laughter echoed across the country club grounds.

George Jacobs held a red plastic cup in the air. “Pickleball is life!” he crowed, which drew whistles and claps from the crowd.

Endy’s phone chimed loudly, vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out and clicked off the alarm. It was ten o’clock and time to shut down the festivities.

Making her way to the picnic table, she turned off the music, which drew a loud protest from the crowd.

“Sorry everyone, the bar’s closing!” she yelled out.

“Booooo,” replied the pickleballers still on the courts. Yet they put down their paddles and ceased play. They were homeowners as well and knew the HOA rules, so they moved from the courts without fuss, laughing and singing.

The pickleball players gathered crushed cups and cans, empty chip bags and banana peels, and deposited it all into the trash cans at the edge of the courts. An older couple coaxed their small pug from underneath a camp chair. The dog blinked drowsily and wheezed a few times as it got to its feet.

When finally the area was cleared, the last pickleballers headed home in their golf carts or walked away down the middle of the deserted street.

Endy surveyed the space. It was clean and ready for another day of play tomorrow.

She clicked off the massive overhead lights and darkness wrapped around her.

After such a busy and fun-filled evening, Endy realized that she wasn’t quite ready to head home yet.

She cracked open a hard seltzer that Steven had left for her, the hisssss sharp in the surrounding quiet, and walked to the grass tennis courts.

A sliver of moon glowed directly above her, bright stars blinked, and the warm desert breeze lifted strands of her hair.

She sat down in the middle of the grass and sipped at her drink.

The evening had been a blast and a wild success.

And yet there were those rumors about some people wanting to get rid of the pickleball program entirely.

Endy shook her head. Why would anyone want to shut down something that brought so many people joy?

She set the can next to her and stretched out on her back just as a shooting star streaked by overhead. Endy remembered when she’d last seen a shooting star. It was a couple of years ago, on their San Francisco rooftop with Maria. And now look where they were after her wish had actually come true.

Closing her eyes, Endy made another wish, different from the last, but still really, really hoping that this wish might come to fruition too.

Settling into the grass carpet, Endy stilled as she listened to the desert around her, the sounds so familiar.

The low rumble of a semitruck slowing on the I-10 headed east. The yelps and howls of coyotes hunting throughout the many acres of the country club.

The cough of someone behind her … Endy’s eyes widened, and she tensed, ready to jump up and flee.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me. Sorry if I scared you,” came a soft, low voice from the shadows. And then he came out of the dark, appearing next to her.

Sebastian.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice like velvet. He stepped closer, then looked down at Endy.

A cloud crossed in front of the moon so Endy knew Sebastian couldn’t see her blushing in the momentary darkness. “Not at all,” she replied. Smiling, she propped herself up on one elbow.

Sebastian gracefully lowered himself onto the grass. She could sense him smiling back at her.

“Sip?” she asked, offering the can to Sebastian. He took it from her, and a jolt of electricity flowed down her arm as his hand brushed against hers.

“I’m not being a creep and stalking or following you,” he said after taking a drink. “I was out taking a walk because my knee was starting to feel tight. And I noticed you here.”

“Not creepy at all to have a strange man approach me in an empty lot in the dark of night.” Endy chuckled.

“True,” Sebastian replied with a snort.

“So how’s your knee doing?”

“It’s better, should be back to a hundred percent in a couple more days.” The cloud covering the moon moved on so Endy could see how Sebastian looked at her, a slight smile on his full lips.

“Maybe in the meantime, you and I could go do something again that doesn’t require a knee that’s only at ninety percent,” he said. “Like would you want to go to dinner?”

Endy’s heart seemed to stop. Was Sebastian Hall asking her out?

“You want to …” she started to say. But then she could only just stare at his light eyes, more gray than blue in the darkness of night, and that tousled dark brown hair resting against his chiseled cheekbones.

“I mean, we don’t have to do dinner,” he said, looking away. “We could just go for another ride around the club in the golf cart or something. I don’t want to—”

“Sebastian …” Endy softened, her eyes bright. “Yes, I do want to. Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

He gave a low chuckle, a warm sound that made Endy shiver. Reaching out, he grasped her hand, his thumb caressing her palm. A beam of moonlight played across them, and Sebastian tucked a loose strand from her high ponytail behind her ear. He gazed at her, a crooked grin playing at his full lips.

“Enchanting Endy.” Their eyes locked and Endy felt like she was floating on a cloud. Sebastian collected her other hand, and he pulled them both up to their feet. He towered above her and wrapped his arms around her as Endy reached her arms around his neck. They fit together perfectly.

Mmmmm, thought Endy. This feels so good, so right. She tilted her face up to Sebastian’s, their eyes still locked. He lowered his face to hers, his luscious lips parted.

Endy closed her eyes and leaned into Sebastian, her heart pounding … just as a cold blast of water hit them. The sssssssh-chk-chk-chk of the water sprinklers rang out as they started on their automatic timers.

“Gah!” shrieked Endy, as she pulled away from Sebastian.

Water shot left to right, catching them across their heads, backs, and thighs while Endy held on to Sebastian’s arm, helping him limp off the lawn.

Laughing hysterically, they made it out of the range of the sprinklers. Her shirt was wet and clinging, water dripped down her legs, and Endy slipped on the drenched turf, falling into Sebastian.

He steadied her, then twirled her toward him, wrapping her in his arms again.

And then he deeply kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.