The ball came back, lower this time, and Cassie stepped into it. ‘What about you? You’ve barely had time to breathe this week.’
‘Press tour madness,’ Delilah said, a little laugh in her voice as she flicked the return cross-court. ‘But it’s part of thejob. I’ll be thrilled to actually do some acting next month. Shame it’s in Bulgaria.’
Cassie nearly fumbled but caught the ball at the last nanosecond. ‘But it’s only four weeks, right?’
Delilah knocked it softly over the net. ‘You should come. Be my tennis advisor.’
‘It’s a movie about World War II,’ Cassie said, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’m top of the call sheet. I’ll force them to do a tennis scene.’
‘Sounds like a weird movie.’
Delilah tapped the ball back across lightly, like a question. ‘I’ll miss you.’
Cassie floated it back. ‘Me too.’
Delilah smiled. ‘Your arm OK?’
Cassie nodded. ‘Holding out.’
The rally stretched, their movements less about precision and more about watching each other. Delilah’s hair slipped loose as she swung; Cassie caught herself staring a second too long, nearly missing the return.
‘Eyes on the ball, Coach,’ Delilah teased.
‘I’ve got my eyes where they need to be,’ Cassie replied, sending the ball back with a controlled swing.
Delilah’s return clipped the tape and dropped just over. She stepped forward, racket resting against her shoulder, a spark in her big dark eyes. ‘Point to me, then.’
Cassie laughed, letting her racket fall. ‘Let’s call itmatchto you.’
Delilah crossed the court slowly, closing the distance. They met at the net, the thud of the last ball echoing like applause.
‘I’m serious about the offer, by the way,’ Delilah said, resting her hand lightly on the net.
‘You’d make them put tennis in a movie about the French resistance?’ Cassie asked dryly.
Delilah rolled her eyes playfully. ‘You could come on my days off, if they happen to match any of your days off. It’s only a three-hour flight.’
‘I want you to enjoy this time,’ Cassie said seriously. ‘This is it. What you’ve worked for. I don’t want you to miss your big break thinking about, ya know,me.’
‘Cassie, I love my work. But I love you more. Please promise you’ll come?’
‘You can’t live without me for a month?’ Cassie asked, suddenly feeling oddly shy with the woman she’d lived with for six months.
‘Yes. But I don’t want to,’ Delilah said softly.
Cassie’s throat tightened. For years, she’d kept herself in check, convinced that love belonged to other people, not her. Yet here Delilah was, choosing her without hesitation.
‘OK. I’ll come.’
‘About time you admitted defeat,’ Delilah murmured.
Cassie smiled, leaning in, their foreheads touching. The pause felt like the moment before a serve—anticipatory, electric. Then, like a perfectly timed volley, Delilah brushed her fingers along Cassie’s jaw, tilting her face up. Their lips met.
When they finally drew back, foreheads still pressed together, neither spoke. Neither needed to. In that quiet, empty court, they both knew what they had: Love-all.
