Mallory
Holland helps me out of the back of the SUV that theMost Eligible Misterpeople used to cart us to the site of our date. They filmed the entire drive, which Holland and I spent talking about golf. Nothing too exciting, and I’m sure it’ll all be cut before the show airs.
Fine by me.
When Holland turns me around, my breath catches in my throat.
“What is this place?” I ask as he leads me forward.
“Cashmere Cove Cherry Blossom Park. Home to the Cherry Blossom Festival, which is happening this week on the grounds and in the barn.” He points ahead to the bright-red building. “That’s where we’re headed. But first, we can enjoy this view.” He sweeps his hand up toward the trees.
“It’s so beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
I turn and find Holland staring at me. He’s got a soft look in his eyes, and my cheeks are warm with what I’m sure is a bright-pink flush. This amount of attention from him is dangerous.
“Yeah, it is,” he repeats himself, holding my gaze for an extra beat before leading me forward. “I should have said this earlier, but you look beautiful too. I mean, you do all the time, but since this is a date, I’m saying it out loud.”
Cliched? Maybe. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling those words in every corner of my body. They cause my heart to stumble around like a baby giraffe learning to walk.
I force myself to meet his gaze and keep my tone light. “How long have you been planning that line?”
“All morning,” he says without hesitation.
I hum. “Thought so.”
“Did it charm you?”
I scrunch up my nose at him and tip my head side to side. “Tough to say. Points for delivery, not so much for originality.”
“I’ll keep trying.” He winks at me. “We both know I get better with practice.”
I fear I won’t be able to handle him if he turns the laser focus he brings to golf onto me. I’m going to choose not to overthink that right at the moment.
We walk through neat lines of cherry blossom trees. The pale-pinkish blooms flutter overhead, and the sun shines through the branches, dappling the grassy path to the barn. Holland doesn’t grab for my hand, but our fingers keep brushing as we walk side by side. There’s something about the ebb and flow of the skin-to-skin contact that is driving my heart rate up. The baby giraffe is finding its footing and trotting faster around its enclosure.
There are other people strolling around, and they smile at us. Some wave to the cameras. Some wave at Holland. He dips his head in acknowledgement. When a little boy runs up and asks for his autograph, he obliges and stops to let the kid’s parents snap a photo. I’m reminded of how he went out of his way at the Grand Masters tournament to reach out to the little guys, the people who may have been overlooked. Attentive is a good look for him.
We follow a stream of people into the barn, and it’s louder in here. Vendor booths are lined up on either side of the space. Poppy Kasper is standing inside the door with a clipboard. She beams at us. “Welcome to the Cashmere Cove Cherry Blossom Festival!”
Holland gives her a high five. “How’s the turnout?”
“Better than ever.” She grins before slipping back into hostess mode. “We’ve got something for everyone: locally sourced honey, candles, greeting cards and stationery, crafts, books, and of course, food vendors. Hope you’re both hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” I say.
“Me too,” Holland echoes.
“I’d highly recommend the cherry pie. Samples are available in the next barn over.” Poppy hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s where the pie-eating contest will be held as well.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Pops,” Holland says. He puts his hand on the small of my back, steering me forward. I jump at the contact but tell myself to relax. It’s actually kind of nice, and when he drops his palm, I miss the warmth immediately.
We step up to a booth where a middle-aged guy is tossing pizza dough and doing all sorts of tricks with it.
“Holland! Hey, man!”
“Kenny, quit being such a showoff.” Holland points toward me. “I’m trying to be the one to impress her.”
