Page 49

I t stank. Even from all the way across the street, she could smell the harsh chemicals.

A burned rubber odor carried over on the desert breeze.

Draining the last sip of Rombauer from her wine glass, she quietly opened the metal gate from her patio and signaled to the dog.

He got up from the warm pavers while she secured a leash to his leather collar, as HOA rules dictated.

They crossed onto the grass bordering the asphalt, now painted solid green and separated by two-inch-wide stripes. The reconverted single tennis court looked pristine once again.

Buttoning her cardigan against the evening chill, she gazed far out across the racquet club property to the area where eight new pickleball courts were being built in a previously unused grassy area. The construction crew had just poured the final topcoat, and the odor was still strong.

Barbara Tennyson pulled on Ollie’s leash, and they walked to the bench overlooking the tennis court. Next to it stood a brand-new sign:

Whisper Hills Country Club

Junior Tennis Academy Court

She smiled and sat down on the bench. Barbara withdrew a cloth from her sweater pocket, turned to the back of the bench, and polished the attached plaque.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”

Barbara turned around as Sloane approached, her hand gesturing out to the tennis court.

“It certainly does,” Barbara replied.

Barbara patted the seat next to her, and Sloane lowered herself into it. Barbara reached out and lightly grasped Sloane’s hand. “Thank you, dear. For helping me make this happen.”

“Mrs. Tennyson, it’s an absolute honor to have your husband’s court for the academy’s exclusive use.”

“It wasn’t just Clive’s court—”

“It wasn’t officially, but in everyone’s mind, it was,” said Sloane.

“And thank you for providing such a generous scholarship. Even though we had enough funding for the operations part of the academy, there will be many, many kids who can go on to achieve great things in tennis because of you and your family’s gift. ”

They sat in companionable silence, an owl hooting above them from the nearby date palm tree.

“And what’s next for you, dear?” asked Barbara, breaking the silence.

Sloane smiled. “Well, turns out that a position for assistant director of racquet sports just opened up here, so I took it. I’ll hang around and run the tennis academy and try to keep the pickleballers honest.” She chuckled, then sighed. “I wasn’t ever the right girl for Sebastian … but Endy is.”

Barbara nodded. “I’ve never seen him so happy. But I am sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Sloane said with a smile. She opened her phone and turned it to Barbara. On the home screen was a photo of Sloane holding a tennis racquet and Wes clutching a pickleball paddle, the two of them with their arms around each other, beaming.

“Ah, another one of those mixed romances,” replied Barbara. With that, she stood up from the bench. “I better get going. Ollie has to do his evening business, and we were headed to the dog park.”

A loud cheer came from the pickleball courts, causing Ollie to startle. He pulled his leash from Barbara’s hand, then darted away.

“Ollie, come back this instant,” said Barbara, sharply. “Where did he go off to?”

From the safety under the bougainvillea bushes, they saw a black-and-white tail wagging, swishing back and forth. And then the dog backed out, turning toward his owner with something clenched in his teeth.

A bright green plastic pickleball.

He trotted back to Barbara and dropped the ball at her feet, his back end wiggling furiously.

“Ah …” Her lips lifted in a warm smile. “Who’s a good boy?”