The Padel Court at Sunset

Maria adjusted the grip on her padel racket, her palm still damp from the match against corporate. The resort court blurred at the edges—or maybe that was the three margaritas talking. Behind her, the infinity pool spilled water toward an ocean the color of bruised peaches.

"You're holding it wrong."

She didn't turn. David. Of course.

"I'm not holding anything wrong, David."

"Your thumb. You're choking the grip."

He stepped beside her, close enough that she could smell the coconut sunscreen he'd applied at 10 AM and reapplied at 2, ritualistic as mass. The last time they'd been this close, the elevator at headquarters had stalled between floors 14 and 15. Eight minutes of breathing each other's air, neither speaking, both knowing.

Neither speaking, both knowing.

He reached out, corrected her thumb with the lightest pressure. "Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You're vibrating with tension. It's the merger, isn't it?"

"The merger's fine. Everything's fine."

He laughed, short and sharp. "You've been saying that since Thursday."

Thursday. The day they'd found out their teams were being consolidated. The day he'd been promoted to run the combined department. The day she'd ordered padel court time for 6 PM, not caring that she hated the sport, not caring that they were the only two people from senior management who played. Desperate for something, anything.

He held out a paper napkin. Wedges of orange and papaya, the fruit garnish from the bar, arranged with unnecessary care. "Hungry?"

She stared at the fruit. "You kept this?"

"I saw you eyeing it earlier. During the match."

"I wasn't—"

"You were. You always do. You want things you won't ask for."

The air between them thickened. The resort music drifted over—something tropical and forgettable—while the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in urgent strokes.

"Ask me," she said.

"Ask you what?"

"Whatever it is you're not saying."

For a moment, everything held its breath. The water lapped against the infinity edge. A waiter laughed somewhere far away.

"I already got the promotion, Maria," he said quietly. "I can't fix what you won't let me fix."

She picked up a wedge of orange. The juice was sharp against her fingers. "Maybe I don't want you to fix anything."

"Then what do you want?"

She ate the orange slowly. The sweetness bloomed, sharp and complicated. Beyond them, the last of the light caught the water, turning it to gold. For five seconds, everything was possible.

"I want," she said, "to beat you at padel tomorrow. Rematch. 6 AM."

His eyebrows rose. Then, slowly, he smiled. "You're on."

He adjusted her thumb one more time, his fingers lingering just long enough to matter, just short enough to deny. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"About the game?"

"About everything."