Page 4 of In a Pickle

Brock Templeton again! How did everyone from Liana’s high school in Miami somehow know Brock Templeton? A quick Google search confirmed that Brock went to high school in Australia. Was there some sort of recent meet-and-greet Liana had missed? Was this all some sort of cosmic joke that she didn’t quite understand?

But the more important question was, how had Christian turned around his life so drastically, taking an upward trajectory while Liana’s life had nosedived? If Christian could turn his life around, why couldn’t she?

Maybe she’d train for a marathon, she thought. That was a discrete goal she could achieve, and she could humble-brag on Instagram and maybe feel a bit better about herself.

Who am I kidding?she thought.I can’t even run half a mile.

Her email app lit up with a notification. Milena had emailed Liana a link to sign up for this week’s pickleball class.

Well, it sure as hell wasn’t a marathon, or even a 5K, but maybe a pickleball class could get her back in the swing of things. Sure, she probably wouldn’t post on social media about playing pickleball with women more than twice her age, but maybe this could be the gateway to exercising again. Besides, Liana had nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon; Tori would be working her typical long hours as a software engineerat one of Miami’s trendiest tech companies. The monotony of unemployment stretched in front of Liana, and surely taking a couple hours off from sending out job applications would be good for her.

When even the least successful of her high school classmates still had steady jobs or stable relationships, Liana needed something — anything — to get herself back on track. A pickleball class was a stretch, but at least it was a consistent workout she could achieve. Maybe if she could achieve this one tiny goal of working out once a week, she could continue taking baby steps and eventually land a job. She’d at least be on the path of holding her head high again.

Yes; that was the plan. First, she’d work out consistently. Next, she’d get a job. Then, she’d start going out into the world again, reconnect with some high school classmates, and try to make some new friends. Maybe, down the line, she’d try dating again. Assuming that her chronic disease would cooperate with that plan, which was a big if.

Until then, she’d stick to places none of her high school classmates were likely to go. She’d hang out with her mom’s friends for now. That would be safe. None of the twenty-something graduates of the elite Pine Heights High School would be attending a late-afternoon Thursday pickleball class with senior citizens; Liana was sure of that. The pickleball class would be a safe way to take a baby step out into society again after the trainwreck of the last years of her life.

???

That Thursday, Liana was tentatively excited when she and her mom stepped out of the car at the Pine Heights CountryClub. She’d have a low-pressure opportunity to play a pseudo-sport, and maybe do some low-stakes socializing with the elderly to get back in the habit of meeting new people.

But when she arrived at the court, her plan was immediately wrecked. A familiar face stared back at her — and he certainly wasn’t elderly.

Liana stopped short, shocked. The tall, leanly muscular man looked back at her, an equally shocked expression on his face.

So much for not seeing anyone she knew. The teacher of this pickleball class appeared to be the one person Liana did not want to lose face in front of.Seriously, Liana thought,if I’d made a list of the top people I didn’t want to see until I get a job and/or a boyfriend and/or some sort of life prospects, this person would be at the top of that list.

Why was he here? Was this a trick? Maybe he just looked like the most lusted-after boy in her high school class. Yes, it must be a trick of the light. Still, she’d check, just to make sure.

“James Alonso?” she asked.

“Liana Abrams,” he responded.

Liana stifled a groan.

Chapter 2: James

James was still reeling from the email he’d received this morning, the email announcing, “New registration for the Pine Heights Charity Pickleball Tournament!” The subject line’s exclamation point seemed to taunt him with its false cheeriness, belying the message it contained.

The email proclaimed that person he wanted to see least in this world would be playing in his tournament: the one he’d designed, advertised, and planned down to every fucking detail to make sure it was perfect. The one he had planned on entering with Mary Grace as his partner — but now, here she was, signed up to play with an unknown someone who was not James.

There was no reason for Mary Grace to play in the tournament, much less for her to sign up with a doubles partner “to be named.” As far as James knew, Mary Grace had never picked up a pickleball paddle. No, Mary Grace had signed up just to taunt James, to make sure that she was still at the forefront of James’ mind even months after their breakup. She was doing this as a big “fuck you,” to show James that she was doing just fine without him — better, even.

James knew Mary Grace was being petty. He shouldn’t let her antics get to him. Wasn’t this kind of mean-girl attitude why he’d broken off things with her?

Still, it smarted.

And now, the universe had to be taunting him even more. That was the only explanation for the woman standing in front of him on this tennis court, those blue eyes seeming to stare straight into his soul, just as they had done that day in high school.

The woman he'd thought about for the past eight years. The woman who happened to be best friends with Mary Grace’s twin sister, Victoria.

James had a vague idea about the last eight years of Liana’s life since he’d last seen her. Not that he’d stalked her, but it was impossible not to see the occasional post on Instagram or TikTok. She’d moved to New England for college, and then to Los Angeles after graduation, and as far as he knew, she still lived there, though he couldn’t recall seeing anything from her on social media for the last few months.

She was just as beautiful as she’d been in high school, with her thick brown wavy hair falling to her waist and her light pink tennis dress highlighting her light skin, a shade lighter than the fake tans common to Miami. Somehow, it increased James’ respect for her that she didn’t try to make her skin a color it wasn’t.

But James didn’t miss the slight slump of Liana’s shoulders, the clear outline of her ribs showing in the cut-out back of her dress, the way her stomach seemed to cave in on itself. He had a sudden urge to cook for her, to feed her. Why wasn’t she taking care of herself? Did someone tell her she looked prettier as a size zero? James knew some people made subtle digs about women’s weight, and if someone had made Liana question how much sheshould be eating, he had a sudden urge to bash that person’s face in.

Not that he was prone to violence. He was a pacifist, even. But he could tell Liana’s health was not entirely all right, and he wanted to do something to fix it.

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