Serve and Volley

Maria checked her reflection in the darkened window of the espresso bar. Three weeks of tailing Julian through London's winding streets had transformed her into something she barely recognized—a woman who memorized a stranger's coffee order, who knew he took his black with one sugar, who timed her arrival to coincide with his exit. Corporate espionage was supposed to be faceless, efficient. It wasn't supposed to feel like dating without touching.

She watched him exit his office building, his golden retriever—Barnaby—trotting obediently at his side. The dog paused, nose working, and looked directly at her hiding spot before Julian gave a gentle tug on the leash. Maria's chest tightened. Even the dog knew her patterns now.

Julian turned toward the river, and Maria followed at a distance. Three weeks ago, his competitor had hired her to discover the encryption algorithm he'd been developing. She was supposed to plant bugs, photograph documents, disappear like smoke. Instead, she'd learned he was divorced, hated jazz, volunteered at a shelter on Sundays. She'd learned he played padel every Tuesday and Thursday at a club near Southwark Bridge.

The glass walls of the padel court revealed him inside, moving with an athletic grace that made her mouth dry. He was playing alone, rallying against the wall, each hit punctuated by sharp echoes. Maria positioned herself on a bench outside, ostensibly waiting for someone, her notebook open on her lap. She should have been documenting his algorithms. Instead, she found herself wondering what his hands would feel like against her skin.

A memory surfaced: sitting in her father's study, watching baseball on television, him explaining how the best pitchers studied their opponents' tendencies until every pitch became inevitable. Is this what she'd become? Someone who learned a person's patterns only to use them against them?

Julian's service hit the wire fencing—fault. He cursed, raked a hand through sweat-dampened hair, and noticed her through the glass. Their eyes met across the divide. Recognition registered first, then something else—not fear, but curiosity. He opened the door and her breath caught.

"You're Maria from the coffee shop," he said, and his voice was warmer than she'd imagined. "You've been following me for three weeks. I was wondering when you'd introduce yourself properly."

She froze. He knew. Of course he knew—how could a former intelligence officer not recognize a tail? And still, he'd let her watch.

"I was hired to steal your encryption key," she heard herself say. "But I think I just wanted to know why you play alone."

Julian's expression softened into something devastatingly tender. "Barnaby hates the noise," he said, gesturing toward where the retriever lay panting in the shade. "Would you like to join me? Or are you still working?"

Maria closed her notebook. Some things weren't worth reporting. Some games were better played together.