Page 4 of Worth the Fall

"Linda, go ahead and send in my next client," I say over the intercom.

As soon as my meeting has concluded, I reach for my emergency chocolate bar, the one hidden behind my contract law reference books for situations exactly like this. As I unwrap it, my phone buzzes with a text from Becca.

Becca

Still on for pickleball tomorrow?

I pause with the candy halfway to my mouth, my brain trying to convince me that I definitely have an excuse to cancel now after this morning’s incident. I take a bite of the fancy Swiss chocolate, letting it slowly melt on my tongue.

"What else am I going to do?" I mutter, taking another bite of the chocolate and then another until the king-sized candy bar is completely gone. "Sit at home and eat more chocolate and hate yourself," I answer my own question, sitting back in my chair with a very unmistakable bellyache from too much sugar.

I glance at the sage smoke still lingering in my office and make a decision. It's time to stop letting Cameron's ghost hauntmy present. And who knows, maybe a game of pickleball with new people is exactly what I need.

Me

Definitely still on.

The rest of my day passes in a blur of client meetings and legal briefs. By the time I pack up to leave, the sage smell has mostly dissipated, though my confusion about Cameron's transformation lingers like the remnants of his man bun.

"What the hell?" I laugh to myself, picturing him standing in my doorway from earlier with his oversized linen tunic and hemp choker.

Maybe he’s just hitting his midlife crises earlier.

I shrug on my coat, slipping off my too-high heels, which I refuse to admit are probably damaging my feet, and putting on my walking shoes. I shut off the light in my office and close the door, the rest of the staff pretty much already gone from the firm, besides the first year interns that are putting in their bitch work like the rest of us had to.

"Good night." I smile to a group of three of them huddled around a copier that smells like it’s been running since eight a.m. this morning, probably because it has. "Watch out for paper cuts."

"Night, Miss Carter," they say in unison, barely even looking up from their sleep-deprived gaze that’s focused on collating briefs.

At home, I peel back the plastic layer of my frozen TV dinner, poking at the rubbery chicken Marsala. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever eaten but it’s better than downing another pack of cupcakes and wallowing in a sugar coma on the couch.

"Pickleball," I say, stabbing the last bite and shoving it into my mouth. I toss the tray into the garbage and retreat to my bedroom to hunt down an outfit for tomorrow.

I spend an embarrassing amount of time digging through my closet for something appropriate to wear for pickleball.

Do people dress up for pickleball? Is it like tennis where there's some unspoken athleisure dress code I should know about?

"Get it together, Mia," I mutter, finally pulling out a lavender workout set I bought months ago but never wore—back when I thought exercise might help me process the breakup. Yet another failed attempt that never actually manifested into anything. I hold the spandex set up against my body. It's cute, practical, plus it makes my ass look amazing. Perfect for whatever tomorrow brings. I smile at myself in the mirror, the pastel color bringing some much-needed life into my eyes.

But a second later, that smile fades when my phone buzzes with another text from Cameron.

Cameron

Mia, hope the sage brought you some peace today. Jasmine says Mercury retrograde ends next week. Better time to discuss the contract so it was meant to be it didn’t work out today. Namaste.

I stare at the message, caught between laughing and crying. This man, who used to roll his eyes at my zodiac app, is now making business decisions based on planetary alignment.

"Or maybe it was because you barged into my office unannounced without an appointment like you still have the right to unfettered access to me," I mutter.

Instead of responding, I delete the message and curl up in bed, setting my alarm for tomorrow. For the first time in months, I'm actually looking forward to the weekend. That's what moving forward looks like, I remind myself, choosing pickleball over pity parties, taking risks instead of playing it safe.

My phone lights up one last time.

Austin

Just watched a YouTube tutorial on pickleball. We're definitely going to embarrass ourselves tomorrow. Can't wait.

I smile, typing back.

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