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I did not enjoy the night I spent alone, and it seemed like such a waste, considering Drea was nearby at her friend's house, apparently miserable. Paige had called earlier, thanks to my aunt's influence, and now it felt like the entire town was somehow involved in my effort to let Drea know I was sorry. And that I wanted something real with her.
The next morning, however, my stomach was in giddy knots, and I could barely lace up my pickleball sneakers, with all the nerves firing through me.
"You okay over there, man?" Callan Whitewood, former forward for a pro soccer team in DC, was grinning at me, while a couple of his pals looked on from the opposite bench in our locker room. The soccer players were surprisingly big, especially Trace Johnson, who played keeper for the South Bay Sharks. His buddy Hamish, who had arrived to play pickleball in a kilt, was also enormous.
"You guys ever think about switching to a real sport?" I asked them, earning me a growl from Hamish.
"They're on your team, man," Callan reminded me. "Save it for the Singletree Soup Slingers."
Before long, the announcer was doing his thing, and it sounded like the court seating was pretty packed.
"Ready?" I asked the guys, who all hooted and hollered as they picked up their paddles. The tournament would consist of two doubles matches going at the same time, with seven total matches in the first round.
We headed out to the stadium, where the other team was already prancing around for the crowd, taking bows and waving their arms in the air. They were a motley assortment of players, many of them clearly in their seventies. One lady had to be at least eighty, though she looked pretty spry in her matching track suit and neon headband.
I scanned the crowd as they cheered for my team's entrance, and immediately saw—or felt—Drea looking on. When I found her there, our eyes met briefly, though she quickly looked away.
This was going to be rough.
"Welcome to our all-star players," the announcer called, quieting the crowd. "We've got an assortment of sports stars from teams across the country. Let's hear a hearty welcome for Trace Johnson, Hamish 'The Hammer' MacEvoy, and Fernando 'the Fire' Fuerte from the South Bay Sharks!"
The crowd roared.
"And a hearty greeting for Avalanche Peters from the Smith Valley Sledders!" I'd met Peters on the ice a few times, and couldn't help the adrenaline that spiked when I heard his name. Of course, now we were on the same team. I just hoped the shit-talking would be aimed at the other team in this situation—he was famous for it.
"Finally, let's have a cheer for the Wilcox Wombats star center, Rock Stevens!"
The crowd didn't exactly go wild, but they were loud enough to make me feel welcome. Of course, the only person I cared about being happy to see me didn't look that way at all. Drea watched me trot out onto the court with a strange look on her face. The look you might use before you disemboweled a favorite pet, if that was a face people made. Yikes.
"Before we get started with the tournament today, folks, we have a special treat for you!"
The stadium quieted as my nerves ramped up to eleven.
I held my breath as Lottie appeared with a team of women I recognized from around town—her daughters, I guessed—and they rolled out the little makeshift stage, speakers, and the enormous floral displays Lottie had commissioned, insisting that no matter what the gesture, flowers were required.
And then the music started, and the announcer shoved a microphone into my hand.
"Drea," I said into the thing as a loud squeal rent the air, earning a groan from the crowd. "Drea Coppersmith, this is for you. I thought hard about what I needed to say to you. Because there are so many things I want to say," I took a deep breath. "But when I'm lost for words, I often find that the best place to look is Broadway." I took the stage in a leap.
I heard a few sounds of surprise around me, but caught my Aunt Nattie's eye in the crowd where she and Noah sat with two of his brothers, and they all nodded. They knew. After all, my Broadway affliction was completely Aunt Nattie's fault.
The music swelled, and I began to sing "On the Street Where You Live," which Lottie and I had agreed, with my aunt's help, would be most fitting. It was about seeing regular things very differently once someone you've fallen in love with comes into your life.
I watched Drea's face as I sang to her about wanting to be nowhere more than on the street where she lives. When tears dripped down her cheeks and she turned to bury her face in Paige's shoulder, I thought I'd screwed it all up, but Paige motioned for me to come closer.
I kept singing, rather badly, I'll admit, as I climbed down from the stage and moved up into the stadium to where Drea sat. Soon, I was at the end of her aisle, and the other people seated there rose and moved away so I could approach. I finished the song standing next to her, and dropped down into a kneel as the crowd around us went completely nuts.
At least they had liked it.
"Drea," I whispered, and the crowd quieted again. "Drea, babe. I'm sorry. It's killing me that you think I used you or manipulated you... It wasn't my intention. The thing is, I think I realized, even when you were poking me with your very pointy finger that first night, that there was something here, something worth exploring."
She was looking at me now, her little pout right there, begging me to kiss it off her face, but I held back.
"I have loved every minute I've spent with you this week," I told her. "And I can't stop myself from imagining lots more minutes. And maybe whole days. Or even... years."
"We just met," she whispered, but her eyes gleamed.
