His eyes glow. “Not too differently. Because I like how you are.”
“Even when I’m an ice queen?”
“Anyone who only sees you as an ice queen doesn’t really know you.” He looks thoughtful. “I’d love to see you let your emotions out in public. I mean, I understand why you don’t, but your fiery side, Mal…” He blows out a breath. “It’s my very favorite.”
I sit up straighter. With Holland in my corner, maybe I could be less locked down in the golf world and let more of my passion show. I’ll figure that out. For now, all I want is for him to kiss me.
I lick my lips, and he traces the movement of my tongue with his eyes. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he meets my gaze, his brown eyes flaming with heat. I lean toward him, and he cups my cheek.
We don’t break eye contact. “Do you”—he swallows—“want me to read to you my favorite part from the book?”
“I—“ I blow out a breath. In any other situation, a man offering to read to me would be the ultimate green flag. Itisa green flag. What did Holland say on the golf course earlier today? He wanted to do this right. I appreciate that he isn’t rushing into the physical side of a relationship, even if I might die if he doesn’t kiss me pretty soon. “Of course.”
I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged. “Come here.”
I pat my lap, and he hesitates for only a second before he lays his head down and flips open the book.
He starts to read, his voice smooth and low, and I take a second to marvel at where I am right now. In Cashmere Cove. In a tree house. With the stars overhead. With Holland. He’s chuckling to himself as he reads the scene where Gilbert rescues Anne from the bridge piling after her boat sinks. Tentatively, I spear my fingers through his hair. He stops reading mid-sentence.
“Sorry.” I pull back, suddenly bashful.
“No. Don’t be.” He reaches up and grabs my wrist. “Don’t stop.”
I hesitate, but then he guides my hand back down to his hair.
“Please,” he says, his voice cracking.
I nod as I run my fingers over his scalp again. Holland’s eyelids flutter shut, and he moans.
I pull in a breath, my heartbeat pounding in the tips of my fingers. Touching him like this—innocently but also, I’m realizing, sensually—is so new. It’s so different from how our relationship was before. After everything he shared tonight, nothing will be the same between us. Before this moment, I could have played off everything between us as part of the show. But now, we know the reality of our feelings for each other. Feelings that built for him in secret and snuck up and surprised me. I could worry about what that means for my job or my future as his coach, but right now, all I want to do is be here, in the moment, enjoying the presence of a man who was enough of a man to be honest and direct withme. I trust Holland. That’s the long and short of it. I guess I always have. I’m trusting that, though nothing will be the same moving forward, it might actually be better.
I stare down at Holland’s closed eyes. He’s got the most peaceful expression on his handsome face. I can’t help but smile. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” I admit, feeling the blood rush to my face.
Holland’s eyelids flutter shut. “Wish you would have.”
“It would have been weird. What would I have said? Come up to you at practice and been like, ‘Um, hey, Holland, can I feel your hair?’”
He laughs softly. “I would have let you.”
“You would have given me so much crap.”
He grins. “That too.” He opens his eyes. “I would have given anything to be close to you.”
I press my lips together, holding back a shy smile. I’m comfortable here, with him spread out around me, reading to me from a favorite old book. The stars are stitched into the sky above us, and thunder rumbles in the distance. The night is black, and there’s a chill in the air now, but I feel so safe and warm and happy it’s like nothing can touch me.
He clears his throat and reads some more, and finally, when he shuts the book, he flicks his gaze up to me. “Want to dance?”
I splutter out a laugh. “Here?”
“Another benefit of having no roof. We can stand up straight.” He scooches off my lap and stands, holding out his hand for me.
I let him pull me up.
“You can’t beat the view from this dance floor.” We both look up as a crack of thunder makes the tree house shake.
Holland frowns. “The weather might become an issue. One quick dance, and then I’ll get you home safe. Promise.”
He taps a couple buttons on his phone, and then the familiar strings of Frank Sinatra’s “Everybody Loves Somebody”start to play.
