A knock on Kathleen’s door woke her with a start. For a heart-thudding, head-pounding minute she didn’t know where she was. Sunlight streamed around the curtains—not something she was used to seeing in her cramped, North-facing apartment in D.C. Another knock made her croak, “Just a second.” She threw back the heavy comforter and shuffled across the hardwood floor, opening the door just a crack to face her invader. “Wendy, geez. What time is it?” Her mouth stretched in a jaw-cracking yawn as her friend and former cast-mate looked her up and down.
“Ten. Here, get inside.” Turning, she beckoned and Kathleen realized a waitress was standing further down the hall, a tray in her hands.
Kathleen shuffled back into her room and watched, bemused, as the waitress put a basket of pastries, a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a pitcher of ice water on the table. When she had gone, Wendy examined Kathleen’s face, holding something up. Focusing her bleary eyes, Kathleen saw it was a bottle of aspirin.
“Thought you might need this, but you don’t look as hung over as I’d expected.”
Kathleen hunched a shoulder, irritated, and poured coffee for herself and Wendy. “Why does everyone think I was so blasted last night?”
Wendy’s dark eyes lit with mischief as she settled into an armchair and sipped. “You did look a little unsteady on your pins when you and Russell left the dining room.”
Rolling her eyes, Kathleen tried not to wince. In point of fact, she did have a bit of a headache. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Wendy. “Yeah, well he seemed to think I was so drunk I didn’t know my own mind.”
Placing her cup on the table, Wendy steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Oh, really?”
Kathleen lowered herself into the other armchair, wincing as a shaft of light hit her square in the eyes. Silently, Wendy placed the bottle of painkillers on the table and slid it towards Kathleen.
“Oh, fine.” Kathleen let Wendy shake two pills out of the bottle into her hand and chased them down with a scalding gulp of coffee.
“…So…Russell?” Wendy asked.
“So nothing. He left me at the door without so much as a kiss.” Kathleen pulled her feet up onto the chair, tugging the big tee shirt she wore to sleep in down over her knees, and drank more coffee, willing the painkillers to kick in as another sunbeam stabbed her in the eyeballs.
“Aww. Poor you. So whose is that, then?” Wendy pointed at the suit jacket that hung over the back of the desk chair at the other end of the room.
Kathleen scowled, remembering all too well removing the jacket from her shoulders, rejection bitter in her mouth. “His. Our walk was chilly. He lent it to me. Must have forgotten about it before he left me high and dry.”
Wendy tilted her head, giving Kathleen an exasperated look. “Or he was being a decent guy.”
“Maybe.” Kathleen sipped more coffee and flexed her toes.
Wendy rolled her eyes and handed Kathleen a croissant, still warm. “And maybe he figured you’d return it to him and you’d have another chance to talk when you hadn’t consumed so much liquor.”
Kathleen’s jaw dropped to reply, realized she had no response to give her friend. “Stop being so reasonable,” she grumbled.
Wendy rose to her feet, putting down her coffee mug and walking over to the mirror to check her makeup. “Fine. I’ll leave you to your moping. But Alicia asked me to tell you there’s a cutthroat pairs croquet competition scheduled for eleven on the back lawn. And Russell already claimed you as his partner.”
Kathleen put her cup and croissant down, running fingers through her tangled hair. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I have to get a shower.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Wendy gave her a sparkling smile and let herself out.
“Okay, then. Here’s how we’re going to play this.” Russell’s eyes ranged over the croquet court and he resisted the urge to press his lips to the ear he was whispering into. Kathleen had emerged from the hotel for the match, apparently bright eyed and bushy tailed, just as they were drawing straws for starting positions. Both of them had drawn late-playing straws, with only Alicia’s sister Grace behind them. “We’re going to play a defensive game to start. See how many balls we can make contact with. Knock them out as often as possible.”
Kathleen cocked her head, ponytail swinging against her neck. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and shaded by a Nationals ball cap, but her mouth curved provocatively. “Got it. Make contact with a lot of balls.”
“Smartass.” He kept his eyes resolutely fixed on her face, but he had noticed other parts of her anatomy when she had joined the group wearing a preppy pair of khaki shorts and a scoop-necked tee shirt, in deference to the way the temperature had surged from the night before.
Frankly, his temperature had surged a bit, seeing her in this casual-sexy attire. And she seemed perfectly fine this morning, not a trace of a hangover that he could see. He wondered if he had been wrong about how tipsy she had been last night.
“Any other advice, cap’n?” Her head stayed in that sassy tilt, her expression unreadable despite the smirk that still quirked her lips.
“Um. No. You’ve played before?”
She grabbed the brim of her cap, waggling it down more firmly onto her forehead like a pitcher about to throw a fast ball. “Put me in, coach. The Fitzgerald family matches are fucking legendary. Epic grudges and plenty of whacking opponents’ balls into grandma’s rose hedges.”
Of course they are. “Oh, really?”
Swinging her mallet in a wide, fast arc, she brought it to rest in the barest tap against his. “Oh. Really. I have four siblings and thirty first cousins. You picked the right teammate if you want to win this.”
Russell suppressed a laugh as she swiveled on her heel and watched the players as they made their opening shots. Russell, having drawn the third-shortest straw, stepped up for his first play, measured out the distance from the post, set his ball down and gave it a judicious whack. The ball rolled a little weakly, coming to a stop between the first two wickets.
“Lost opportunity.” Kathleen grinned at him from the sidelines.
Squinting at her in the bright sunlight, Russell said, “Whose team are you on?”
“Just giving you a friendly tip…coach.” Lowering her sunglasses, she gave him an exaggerated wink.
“Smartass indeed,” Russell muttered, looking at the ball. She was right. If he had hit it with more power, it would have given him room to maneuver. As it was, he didn’t have much room to make much of a swing with the first wicket bracketing his ball so closely. He tapped it as firmly as he could, getting it through the second wicket and surveyed the distance to the next one. There was a bit of a cluster of balls in the vicinity, and he wondered if he could manage to hit one with his next stroke.
Only one way to find out.
Dammit.
Kathleen assessed Russell’s game as his ball rolled to a stop just shy of Colin’s sister’s. His accuracy was good, but his stroke was too tentative.
They’d never get anywhere like this.
Russell’s turn over, Kathleen adjusted her ball cap, tugging on the ponytail she’d threaded through the opening at the back and wincing when the tug sent a flare of pain through her skull. Setting up her ball she glanced at the first two wickets and gave her ball a smart whack, sending it rolling straight and true, stopping clear of both of them, solidly on the court. Stepping up to it, she assessed the competition. Colin and his brother Simon had already cleared the third wicket on their first round. Colin’s dad’s ball sat at the very entrance of the third wicket, blocking it.
First victim: Colin’s old man.
Rocking her head to ease her neck, Kathleen stepped up to her ball and looked again at Dr. St. Cyr’s. Taking a deep breath, she struck her own ball on the exhale, sending it rolling across the court.
Clack.
Resisting the urge to pump her fist, she stepped up to the balls, her green one nestled up against Dr. St. Cyr’s orange one. “Sorry Doc,” she said, giving the older man a nod of her head. He lowered his own chin, his eyes twinkling with humor. Turning back to the tableau of balls, she rested her sneaker on her own ball and gave it a brisk whack, sending Dr. St. Cyr’s ball bouncing off the court. Addressing herself to her next move, she considered what else lay on this side of the wicket.
No question: the bride had to go.
A small tap brought her green ball to rest against Alicia’s yellow one. This maneuver took a stronger whack of the mallet to send her friend’s ball spinning off the court in the other direction. Russell would have to deal with Colin’s sister. His too tentative stroke had brought him close to Gemma’s ball, but not touching it. If Kathleen tried to send Gemma off the court, she might well end up involving his ball in the clearance as well.
Nope, it was time for the next wicket.
Another moment to consider, another brisk strike and she was through. She considered the lay of the land. Colin first, then his brother Simon.
She suppressed a feral smile. This was almost too easy.
Kathleen walked jauntily off the court, ponytail swinging, her ball resting in position to go through the fifth wicket as Grace surveyed the court for her first turn, advised by her teammate, Dr. St. Cyr.
“How’d I do, coach?”
Russell blinked, his face burning with embarrassment. He’d thought he was the guy with the strategy. And she’d just…she’d just done that. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“I told you. Fitzgerald matches are legendary. Plus, my dad was a professor at St. John’s College and a huge fan of the annual game against Navy. We used to practice with the Johnnies to get them up to speed. The Fitzgerald advantage, it was called.”
“The Naval Academy plays St. John’s in…croquet?”
“Sure. It’s quite an event. The Johnnies are always kind of chaotic—instead of a regular uniform, they always have a top-secret costume that gets revealed right before the game. The Naval Academy band plays swing music, there’s a color guard display, people dress up, bring picnics…on a gorgeous day in Annapolis there’s nothing better. You should come sometime.”
Colin took his turn, just getting back onto the court, then approached them, mallet resting on his shoulder. “Here I thought you had an ulterior motive, claiming Kathleen as your partner. But it wasn’t the one I thought.” His elbow nudged Russell’s ribs and Russell had to laugh.
“If I had only known, I would have claimed her twice as fast.”
“Ulterior motive? I have no idea what you would mean.” Kathleen’s mouth was prim and what he could see of her expression was innocent, but Russell would just bet that her eyes were sparkling with laughter behind the mirrored sunglasses and if there was a flush on the crest of her cheekbones, he guessed it wasn’t just from the strong sunshine.
Russell fought with his mouth’s urge to grin. “Well, I do have to put up with extra helpings of sass.”
Kathleen waved a hand. “Oh, that’s just an added benefit. It’s good for you. Like drinking water and taking vitamins.”
Alicia joined the group then. “Who knew you were a ringer, Kathleen?”
Kathleen rocked back onto her heels then forward onto her toes. “Besides me? Nobody. It’s not exactly something I put on my résumé.” She lifted a hand, mimed writing in the air. “Basic swordplay, fluent in French, horseback riding, singing, croquet…”
Russell blinked. “You put stuff like that on your résumé?”
Watching Dr. St. Cyr navigate his ball back to the court, she said, “Sure. You never know what you might need for a role.” She shouldered her mallet and tapped her lips with a fingertip. “Maybe I should put croquet on…”
Shaking his head, Russell wondered what it would be like to have a résumé filled with odd talents and obscure skills rather than a curriculum vitae filled with journal articles and conference presentations.
Suddenly his career felt very…boring.
“Russell, you’re up.”
Brought back from his musings, Russell looked at the court. Gemma, despite having the opportunity to take him out, had apparently decided on trying to advance her ball through the court. He had a clear shot at the third wicket. If he managed not to screw that up, he would have the opportunity to clear at least one opponent’s ball.
He owed it to his pride—and his partner—to do at least that much.
Leaning in to murmur in Kathleen’s ear, he breathed in her scent. Sunshine-warmed skin and coconut sunscreen instead of the light floral fragrance of the night before. It was just as appealing. “All right, coach. Any advice?”