“Fisher prefers his hand,” Noah jokes. “He’s been single for years.”
“Asshole,” I grumble good-naturedly.
Noah laughs and takes the racket from me, putting it away in his bag. “Did I lie? I can’t recall when you last seriously dated someone. When we were in college?”
“We hated each other back then and somehow you know about my love life?” I joke.
“You act like we weren’t on the same tennis team and had the same group of friends.” Straightening, he shoulders his bag. “Not to pry, but why haven’t you really dated?”
“I’ve dated,” I say a tad too defensively.
And I have—even if those dates never panned out.
“But nothing serious. I would know.”
I flinch at that, because he’s not wrong but it also implies that I didn’t take Ebba seriously when we were together.
“He’ll meet his match eventually,” Elias says. “I’m starving. What’s the plan for dinner?”
Noah launches into details about the chicken dish he has planned—he enjoys cooking when he has time—and I’m thankful to Elias for the reprieve from questioning.
While they’re discussing dinner, I busy myself with gathering up the balls and leaving the court ready for tomorrow. I’m sure Noah and Elias will want to be up early practicing.
I’m proven right when Noah says, “Stay the night, Fisher. Elias and I will be up early.”
I nearly laugh at how accurate my thoughts were. “Sure. No problem.”
My place isn’t far, but sometimes after a long day I crash here so I have a stash of clothes and other things in a guestroom. As pathetic as it sounds, there are times where I don’t want to go home and be reminded of how alone I am. It allows my mind to easily drift to thewhat ifs.
What if we never lost the baby?
What if Ebba was still mine?
What if we were a family?
The guys and I head back to the house and none of the girls are to be seen. I’m not sure if I’m thankful or disappointed for that fact.
“I’ll show you where you’re staying,” Noah says to Elias, and they head up the stairs.
I want to shower, but I hang in the kitchen searching Noah’s pantry for a snack. I end up swiping a pack of Cheetos that are probably Maddie’s, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Slipping out of the pantry, I ease the door shut behind me as quietly as possible.
When I turn around, I’m met with a skeptical looking Whimsy.
“Jesus.” I clutch the bag to my chest.
“No.” She points to herself. “Whimsy.”
“Smart ass,” I grumble affably.
I don’t know the blond too well, but I do know she’s been good for Elias. There’s a mellowness to him now and happiness in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
“Something tells me if you’re sneaking out of the pantry, you’re probably not supposed to have them.”
“I figure they’re Maddie’s.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Makes sense. I would sneak around too. Kids can be terrifying. I was sent to grab this.” She swipes a bottle of wine from the counter. “And glasses?” It comes out as a question.