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The stadium quieted as my nerves ramped up to eleven.
I held my breath as Lottie appeared with a team of women I recognized from around town—her daughters, I guessed—and they rolled out the little makeshift stage, speakers, and the enormous floral displays Lottie had commissioned, insisting that no matter what the gesture, flowers were required.
And then the music started, and the announcer shoved a microphone into my hand.
“Drea,” I said into the thing as a loud squeal rent the air, earning a groan from the crowd. “Drea Coppersmith, this is for you. I thought hard about what I needed to say to you. Because there are so many things I want to say,” I took a deep breath. “But when I’m lost for words, I often find that the best place to look is Broadway.” I took the stage in a leap.
I heard a few sounds of surprise around me, but caught my Aunt Nattie’s eye in the crowd where she and Noah sat with two of his brothers, and they all nodded. They knew. After all, my Broadway affliction was completely Aunt Nattie’s fault.
The music swelled, and I began to sing “On the Street Where You Live,” which Lottie and I had agreed, with my aunt’s help, would be most fitting. It was about seeing regular things very differently once someone you’ve fallen in love with comes into your life.
I watched Drea’s face as I sang to her about wanting to be nowhere more than on the street where she lives. When tears dripped down her cheeks and she turned to bury her face in Paige’s shoulder, I thought I’d screwed it all up, but Paige motioned for me to come closer.
I kept singing, rather badly, I’ll admit, as I climbed down from the stage and moved up into the stadium to where Drea sat. Soon, I was at the end of her aisle, and the other people seated there rose and moved away so I could approach. I finished the song standing next to her, and dropped down into a kneel as the crowd around us went completely nuts.
At least they had liked it.
“Drea,” I whispered, and the crowd quieted again. “Drea, babe. I’m sorry. It’s killing me that you think I used you or manipulated you... It wasn’t my intention. The thing is, I think I realized, even when you were poking me with your very pointy finger that first night, that there was something here, something worth exploring.”
She was looking at me now, her little pout right there, begging me to kiss it off her face, but I held back.
“I have loved every minute I’ve spent with you this week,” I told her. “And I can’t stop myself from imagining lots more minutes. And maybe whole days. Or even... years.”
“We just met,” she whispered, but her eyes gleamed.
“We did,” I agreed. “But this week really has changed everything for me. The song was the best explanation of how I feel. It’s like I see the everything differently just knowing you’re alive.”
“Rock,” she whispered, half giggling, half crying.
“Speak up!” Someone in the crowd yelled, and I realized then that the microphone was still on. I thought about making a gesture, but this wasn’t hockey. It was pickle ball. And I was trying to win the heart of the woman I was falling in love with.
“I’m not asking for forever. Not yet at least,” I told her, taking her soft delicate hand. “But I’m asking for a chance. Can you give me that?”
Drea stood, pulling me to my feet in the process, and she stepped close, putting her arms around me and tilting her chin up to look into my eyes.
“I can give you that,” she said, and then she rose up onto her toes to kiss me hard. “But only if you promise never to sing again.”
“That bad?” I said, partially offended.
“It wasn’t good,” she told me. “But I loved it.”
“Good, because Broadway is in my blood.”
“Wonderful.”
“You got the girl,” Avalanche called from the court. “Can we play some pickle ball now?”
“Let’s rumble!” The old woman in the track suit shrieked.
And for the rest of the day, I played the best—and only—pickle ball I’d ever played, knowing the woman I loved was cheering me on, and that later, we’d go home. Together.
I didn’t know what the future would bring, but I was pretty sure Drea Coppersmith would be a big part of it.
* * *
Thanks for reading Between a Rock and a Hard Place! Want more Delancey Stewart? Check out thisseries starter. For a free story, join my newsletterhere!
Delancey Stewart
