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He nudged past Endy and knelt down, pulling branches aside.

“Ouch!” he hissed and yanked his hand back from a spine hidden among the bougainvillea’s papery flowers.

A bright red scratch bloomed on his skin, and he wiped his hand across the front of his tennis shorts, leaving a smear of blood.

From below the bush, Rusty yapped incessantly, but then snarled, low and menacing, and sprang forward, snapping her teeth.

The gorgeous guy moved back, bumping into Endy. Their eyes met and held.

Endy’s heart thudded as she got to her feet. Her palms grew damp, and she wiped them on her skirt, at the same time trying to settle the fluttering feeling in her chest.

“Uh … hi,” she stammered and gave him a slight, oddly formal nod.

He lifted an eyebrow and flashed her a crooked smile, and Endy felt a flush rise in her cheeks.

“Hi,” he replied and then grabbed the hem of his T-shirt with both hands crossed in front of him and pulled the shirt up over his head, revealing his rock-hard six-pack abs and chiseled chest.

Endy’s jaw dropped open. Holy crap. The hot EMT had nothing on this guy.

He wrapped the shirt fabric around his hands and forearms and leaned back into the bougainvillea.

“Careful,” groaned Gary, peaking through his hands covering his face. “I can’t be held liable for what may happen—”

The mini-dachshund snarled again and her razor-sharp teeth chomped out as the gorgeous guy reached deep under the shrub.

And then, surprisingly, he stood up, the red-brown ball of rage wrapped in his T-shirt, now perfectly quiet. He smoothed the fabric away from Rusty’s head and raised her up to examine.

Gary tripped back in terror. “Not so near your face!”

But the tiny dog peeked her nose out, sniffed at the guy’s cheek, and then enthusiastically began licking his mouth and chin. He tilted his head back and laughed, the sound deep and full.

“Hey, Hall! I’ll meet you on court nine,” came a shout from across the lawn, near the tennis courts.

He waved his hand over his head in acknowledgment, then picked up the leash that Gary had dropped on the lawn, clipped it to the dog’s collar, and placed her gently on the ground.

Rusty hopped up and down on her back legs, trying to climb his leg, but he handed the leash to Gary and then reached down and caressed the dog’s soft ears.

And as Endy stood paralyzed, he shook out his T-shirt, pulled it back over his head, and took a step away. He paused and turned to look back at Endy. His lips pulled up in a sexy smile, and then he gave her the same slight, oddly formal nod she’d given him and jogged off.

Gary picked up Rusty and settled her in the crook of his arm. “Endy,” he said, “you can close your mouth now.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he reached out his hand and lifted her chin.

Endy drew in a deep breath and quickly blinked her eyes.

Did that really just happen? Did the universe just drop the most gorgeous guy in front of her after she’d declared the chances of meeting someone less than zero?

She shook her head, wondering if her morning could get any stranger, and looked across the lawn to the pickleball court where she had just been with the EMTs. Paul Rothman waved in her direction.

“Drama over,” Paul called out. “I’m giving it up for the day, so everyone, please, resume playing.”

The rest of the pickleball players slowly moved from where they sat. Some raised their paddles in acknowledgment, a couple waved, and they all returned to their courts. The music was turned back on, and the squeaking of shoes moving on the court resumed.

Paul turned to Steven and the two other men who had been on the court with them but had stood to the side during the ordeal. “You guys should keep playing.”

“I don’t know, Paul, that just doesn’t seem right,” argued Steven.

“I’m fine, Steven. I’ll be at home resting and drinking this.” Paul held up a large bottle of fruit punch Gatorade.

Steven looked reluctant. “Well, we don’t even have a foursome.”

Returning to the group, Endy raised her hand. “I’ll play in.”

Paul nodded. “See, Endy will join you. Seriously, you all keep playing.”

“As long as you’re sure …” Endy pulled out her phone from her pocket to check the time, then turned to the other men. “But I can only play for a little while—I have a meeting I’ll need to get to.”

“Okay then, let’s play as long as we can,” replied Steven. He turned to Paul. “I’ll check in with you this afternoon, okay?”

“That’s very nice of you, Steven. I’ll see you later.” He lifted his Gatorade in a toast. “Have a good match.”

Steven tossed Endy the plastic ball as she moved to the baseline. She took a deep breath, refocusing her thoughts. After a beat, she called out the beginning score, “Zero, zero,” and, per pickleball rules, added that she was the second server who started the match, “two.”

Endy looked across the court, then dropped the ball, swung her paddle, and served the ball over the net.

The foursome played for an hour, with the scores fairly even throughout. Endy didn’t even need to pull back on her own play to allow the older men an advantage, although, at age twenty-eight, she often found herself the youngest player on the Whisper Hills courts.

That was the thing about pickleball: anyone could get proficient pretty quickly. And regardless of age, experience, or ability, everyone agreed that playing pickleball was more than just plain fun—it was a way of life.

After their match concluded, Endy stood beneath the shade awning with a dozen other players, drinking from their colorful stainless steel water bottles, chatting and laughing.

Every few minutes, golf carts or e-bikes cruised past the area, with people leaning out and waving their hellos.

A resounding cheer came from a nearby court, and two of the players high-fived and touched their paddles together.

“Endy, I want to apologize for Paul’s behavior with those EMTs,” said Steven. “Your love life is none of our business, even if we all think of you like a daughter.”

“Thank you, Steven,” said Endy. “But everyone here, including Paul, has been wonderful to me. Besides, I don’t actually have a love life.”

“Well, when you eventually meet some young man who adores you as much as we all do, don’t let him Bennett you.”

“I’ll try my best not to get Bennetted again,” said Endy, giving a dry laugh. “Don’t worry, if I fall in love with a guy who has a beautiful, sophisticated ex-girlfriend, I’ll call it quits with him before he can call it quits with me.”

“Cut him off with surgical precision.”

“Will do, Dr. Markowitz,” Endy assured him with a smile. “I need to get going. Would you text me later and let me know how Paul is doing?”

Steven sat down in the shade of the awning. “Of course, Endy. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be fine. We’ve seen worse, right?”

As if on cue, a woman on the next court over shuffled back, trying to reach a ball soaring over her head, then tumbled backward to the hard ground.

She caught herself partially on an outstretched hand, but her face grazed the court’s surface.

Blood bloomed on her cheek as the other three players rushed to her aid.

“I’m okay,” the woman called out. “I’m okay. ”

“Go get to your meeting … I’ve got this,” Steven said as he slid a glance to Endy and headed for the injured woman. “It’s just another regular day of pickleball.”

Endy shrugged, palms turned up. “I’ll have some ice sent over from the pro shop,” she called out over her shoulder, then said under her breath, “Please, let’s get through the day without having to call another ambulance.”

Country music blared from the wireless speaker and two small white dogs yapped as they wrestled on the freshly mowed grass, turning their fur a brilliant lime green.

The thwack of paddles hitting hard plastic balls echoed throughout the surroundings as Endy stepped out of the awning’s shade and into the golden California sun shining across the rows and rows of crowded pickleball courts.