Just as she knew an objective observer would deem her current behavior ogling.
When the lesson ended, the couple gathered their belongings. Lucas said his goodbyes and sprinted for the clubhouse, his large bag anchored to his side with one hand. With the other, he wrenched open the glass door to the little building, and then he disappeared inside.
They’d agreed to meet for lunch in ten minutes. He was hurrying. For her and to her.
That knowledge settled a few of her doubts, but not all of them, and not for long.
Taking her time, she followed his path to the clubhouse and stationed herself outside, trying not to think about the coworker who’d interrupted the end of her tennis lesson two days ago. More specifically, about how that coworker had appeared to be the same approximate age as her students. Twenty, max. Most likely around the same age as their friend Emma.
Lucas hung out with those people. Partied with them.
She was twice their age. Which was disconcerting, since forty suddenly didn’t feel much different from thirty-nine. Or twenty-nine, for that matter.
Not that she’d anticipated a sudden surfeit of middle-aged wisdom as the clock struck midnight on her birthday, or foreseen her body withering and crumpling into dust with the turning of a page in her planner. But maybe, despite all her protests about the unimportance of the transition, she’d expected morecertaintywith the advent of her fifth decade on this earth. Tranquility. Calm acceptance of her life as it was, both its joys and boundaries.
That hadn’t happened.
Instead, there she stood outside the tennis clubhouse, sweating in the midday heat, forty years and one day old, awash with sensations she hadn’t experienced in well over a decade. After all this time, who knew she could still feel so…fluttery? So electric with possibility and doubt and risk?
She’d dated after the end of her engagement. Had sex. Even called a man or two her boyfriend.
But she’d never once reacted this way to them. God help her, but Lucas somehow unbalanced her, dizzied her until her tongue came untethered and said things—angry things, honest things, foolishly flirty things—a diplomatic, practical principal-to-be would never, ever say.
Worse, her body rioted in his presence. Bloomed. Betrayed itself and undermined her slipping grasp on equanimity. And her too-hopeful heart…
Well, the less said about that, the better.
For a woman who was, above all else, pragmatic, it was all very disorienting.
As was his sudden arrival at her side, that familiar bag once again hanging from his shoulder, the clubhouse door swinging shut behind him. The sun glinted off the wet strands of his thick, dark hair, limning its edges with copper. He smelled like some sort of outdoorsy-scented soap, and he was wearing a different outfit. Still shorts and a tee, but both were dry and unwrinkled. Heat radiated from his large body, more intense than the sun searing her scalp and bare arms.
“Hey, Tess. Sorry I’m a couple minutes late.” He was smiling at her, his dimples deep, his olive-green eyes bright. “That’s a pretty dress.”
His forefinger skimmed her arm in a fleeting moment of contact, and her breath caught at the sudden bolt of sensation. She stared at him, aghast at her reaction to that simple touch.
Aghast and…well, terrified, actually.
He’d positioned himself close to her, his shoulder propped against the side of the building. Only a couple feet away, people walked past them, and he didn’t glance in their direction, not even when she heard his name spoken. His focus remained entirely on her. And the way his gaze caressed her features…
Lucas was still speaking, although she’d entirely lost track of his words. “—the perfect spot, I think. Will that be a problem for your knee? If so, I have another place we can go.”
Wait, why were they talking about her knee?
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
With a graceful shrug, he lowered his bag to the ground and peered into her face, his own now craggy with concern. “Are you okay? You look kind of…I don’t know. Out of it, I guess.” Gently, he rested the back of his hand against her forehead, then her temple. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Tess. I should have told you to wait inside the clubhouse. Heat exhaustion can happen more quickly than you’d think out here. Are you feeling okay? You don’t seem feverish.”
His touch, his nearness, confused her. The echo of his words—the few she’d listened to—confused her. The explosion of damnable hope spreading sunshine through her every vein, every cell, confused her.
She caught at his broad, warm hand. Held it, needing its stability as she floundered. “I’m fine.”
“I’m so sorry I ran late.” Despite her answer, he was still ushering her into the shade of a nearby overhang, his fingers intertwined with hers, his other hand light on her back. “I didn’t think reheating the dips or packing everything in my bag would take so long, but that’s no excuse. Do you want some water?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath, the warmth of his palms a tease of sensation along her spine and against her own hand.
“I apologize, Lucas. I was thinking about—” When she licked her balm-covered lips, his gaze dropped there, and she had to shake herself free from yet another near-fugue state. “I was remembering something I needed to do for work. But I’m fine, and more than happy to go wherever you’d like for the picnic.”
His brow was still furrowed as he studied her. “Are you sure you’re not ill or overheated?”
