It wasn't a surprise that after everything in New Rochelle, Art and Tashi got divorced. Not to him, at least; he's sure Tashi felt the same way when he'd brought it up to her. She still coached him in The Open, he won it and finally earned the Career Grand Slam she'd been vying for, and ended things shortly after.

Their split was amicable, he got 50/50 custody of Lily, and their shared assets were divided without contest. Everything was all cut and dry, and soon enough Art was both divorced and a freshly retired pro tennis player.

He probably would've been a hermit for the rest of his days if Patrick didn't drag him out as often as he did, saying it was his "duty" to let people know Art was on the market again. It's actually Patrick who introduces the two of you; a simple dare to woo the pretty young thing across the bar quickly turned into something real, and Art's never been more grateful for a childish bet. Besides, while he takes care of you, you to see the real, unbridled version of himself.

It's plain as day that you're younger than Art— the divorcee in his late thirties juxtaposed by the mid-twenty-something always tucked into the crook of his elbow— but it's the least of his concerns now that you're together. Why would he care what anyone else thinks when he gets you to himself? The media could speculate all they wanted; you called the shots most days, anyway.

"Hey," he mumbles as he drops his keys on the counter, walking over to you on the sofa. Now that he's been coaching on occasion, Art's out on the court and away from you more often than he likes. Right now he's got that familiar weariness to him— that tired look in his eyes that won't go away no matter how much he sleeps— but it slowly ebbs away once he's beside you. "C'mere."

Broad arms curl around you a moment later, enveloping you while his hand runs along your side. "Sorry I'm late… did you still want to go to dinner?"

As tired as he is, he still wants to show you off; why wouldn’t he? You make him feel alive.