“Doesn’t matter. Who is she to you?”
“An old friend.”
I cock my head. “And…?”
“And wouldn’t you like to know.” He says it with a grin.
I fold my arms. “Why are you being cryptic?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I’m trying to figure you out.”
The words come out without my permission, and there’s more truth in them than I’d like to admit.
A slow smile spreads across Holland’s face. “Which can only mean one thing…youdocare…or at least you’re starting to care.”
I roll my eyes. “Forget it. Forget I asked.”
“Admit it. I intrigue you.”
I refuse to meet his eye, because I’m afraid he’ll see the truth. Idowant to know more. But only to satisfy my curiosity. Nothing beyond that. Even if Holland is a decent guy and not the selfish jerk I pegged him to be, that changes nothing. He’s still my player. I’m still his coach. He’s a means to my paycheck. He’s giving me a livelihood—one that I happen to like and refuse to jeopardize.
“Mallory! There you are.”
Holland and I turn to find Vivian stepping onto the porch of Daisy’s Inn. She’s scowling at me, and I curse under my breath.
“You’re over an hour late. Where have you been?”
“I—“
“Practice ran long.” Holland steps forward and holds up his scorecard billfold. “I wanted to go over the course for the GrandMasters with Mallory so I can start studying during my downtime this week. Sorry I kept her.”
He offers Vivian a charming smile, and she presses her lips together and gives me a reluctant nod.
“Alright, then. Let’s get you inside. We’re having girl time before Ava’s date, and I need you mic’d up to join in.” She pivots her gaze to Holland. “You need to get changed. You’re going out on a boat in the harbor before dinner and fireworks over the water tonight. Your stylist has wardrobe options for you. Be back here in forty-five minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Holland gives Vivian a jaunty salute, and she disappears inside.
I make to follow her, but the manners ingrained in me by my mother have me hesitating. “Thanks for covering for me,” I say, facing Holland.
“My pleasure. Maybe you can return the favor by giving me a chance to prove I’m not such a bad guy.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”
He crosses his arms and gives me a look that says,yeah right.
“Okay. Maybe, in the past, I haven’t thought the most highly of you. In my defense, you’ve always been sort of full of yourself and insufferable about it.”
“I’m not going to take that personally, because I’m waiting for you to say, ‘but now…’”
He motions for me to go on. I shift uncomfortably. I don’t have to respond to him. I know that. I’m a free person with free speech on public property. I can walk away. I can flip him the bird. I can ignore him. But I’m nothing if not fair. And it wouldn’t be fair to not admit that I may have been misreading him. Or that I’ve noticed a change. How to do that without giving him a big head, though? That’s the question.
“But,” I begin, searching for the right words. “I’m sure you’re fine.”
“I’m fine,” Holland parrots. “There it is, ladies and gentlemen, the kind of compliment I’ve been waiting for.”
“Shut up. I was going to say that maybe you have some redeeming qualities, but now I’m thinking not.”
