Strings Attached

Part 3.2: Coffee, Confessions, and Quiet Moments

As the days go on, Belle and Edmund's lives begin to blend in ways that neither had anticipated. Edmund became a fixture at Sloane's Skeins and Stitches, often popping in between training sessions to practice his crocheting or to help Belle with tasks around the shop. She found it endearing how someone so accomplished in his field could be so eager to master something as delicate as crochet.

Belle, in turn, found herself drawn into Edmund's world. She started attending his training sessions, sitting quietly in the stands and watching with a sense of pride and awe. The intensity with which he played, his sharp focus, and the graceful way he moved on the court captivated her. She cheered him on with all her heart, becoming a constant source of support.

One afternoon, after a particularly busy morning in the shop, Belle found Edmund waiting for her at their usual table near the window. He had come straight from training, his damp hair tousled from exertion and a faint weariness lingering in his posture. She placed two steaming cups of coffee on the table and sat across from him, noticing the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

"Tough session?" she asked gently, her voice a soothing thread in the air.

Edmund exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening before he gave her a small smile. "You could say that. My coach has been on me about maintaining focus. Apparently, I'm not sharp enough in my footwork. He's probably right, but it feels like no matter how much I give, it's never enough."

She frowned, her hands wrapping around her mug. "That sounds exhausting. Do you get to take any real breaks?"

"Not really," he admitted. "There's always something—practice, strategy meetings, media obligations. Even when I'm not training, I'm expected to show up for interviews or press events. And don't get me started on social media."

"You're on social media?" She asked with a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled despite himself. "Barely. My management team handles most of it, but even then, I have to approve posts, reply to a few fans to stay 'engaged,' and make sure I don't say anything that could spark a headline. It's... a lot."

Belle's teasing faded, replaced by concern. "That's a lot of pressure, Edmund. Do you ever just... switch off?"

"Hardly." He looked down at his coffee, swirling the liquid with a small, contemplative motion. "Sometimes I feel like a machine. Tennis is my whole life—it has to be. But it's lonely, you know? Everyone sees the trophies and the highlights, but they don't see the constant grind or how much you have to give up."

Belle reached out, her hand brushing against his. "That sounds isolating. Have you always felt this way?"

He hesitated before nodding. "For a while now. I mean, I love the game. I love competing. But sometimes, I miss the simplicity of it—playing for fun, without all the noise."

Belle let her hand linger on him for a moment, her touch warm and grounding. Edmund glanced at their joined hands and then back up at her, offering a faint, appreciative smile before withdrawing his hand to cradle his coffee cup.

"What about your family?" She asked, her voice gentle. "Do they get to come see you play? Or maybe travel with you?"

Edmund shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "Not often. My parents came to a few matches early in my career, but now it's tough with the schedule. They watch TV when they can, and they'll send me messages afterwards. It's nice, but it's not the same. My brother—Elliot—used to come along when I first went pro, but he's got his own life now. A career and a family. I get it, though. People can't put their lives on hold for me."

She tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. "That doesn't make it any easier."

"No, it doesn't," He admitted, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the ceramic mug. "It's ironic, isn't it? I'm surrounded by people all the time—coaches, trainers, sponsors, fans—but I've never felt more alone. Everyone wants something from me, and sometimes I wonder if they even see me as a person or just... an asset."

Her heart ached at his words. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, his usual confident exterior cracking under the weight of his honesty. She reached across the table again, this time gripping his hand firmly.

"You're not just an asset to me, Edmund," she said, her voice steady and sure. "You're... you. A kind, hardworking, funny, and talented person. And you're more than enough."

"Thanks, Belle. I think I needed to hear that." His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his posture easing.

"Anytime. I mean it." A small smile curved her lips.

He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You're one of the few people who just... listens. You don't tell me to push harder or to 'stay focused.' You just let me be."

"That's because you deserve that," she said simply. "You deserve to be seen for who you are, not just for what you achieve."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the shop, the quiet hum of a heater, the occasional rustle of yarn wrapping around them like a cocoon.