I offer her a weak smile. “I hope so.”
“Oh!” She holds a finger up in the air. “I almost forgot. Willow dropped off the book you asked me to get for you. I have it behind the front desk.” She scuttles away and retrieves the library book. It’s tucked inside a canvas tote bag. She hands it over to me, and I hug it to my chest, feeling myself relax at the reminder that Holland is waiting for me to give him a romance novel to read. That he asked for it. That he remembers things about me and about us. I need to trust him.
“Thanks, Daisy.”
She heads into the kitchen, and I walk upstairs slowly to wait out what I’m afraid is going to be the longest morning of my life until practice, when I can see Holland again off camera and hopefully get some reassurance.
At least I have some good reading material.
Holland joins me at the golf course right on time.
I smile at him, and he smiles back, but he doesn’t make a move to hug me or anything like that. He drops his bag and starts stretching.
“How was your date?” I ask casually.
“It was nice. Fine.” He reaches for his putter. “What do you got for me today?”
I clear my throat, thrown off by his all-business attitude.
“Right. Okay. We’re going to work on your grip. Let me see it.”
He holds out his putter for me, and I walk over. I trail my fingers along the ridges of his knuckles. Yeah, I’m checking the way he’s holding his club, but I’m also desperate for some physical contact. I’m hoping he is too, and he’ll take this opportunity to act on it.
I linger in his personal space for an extra second, and my stomach drops—and not in a good way—when he doesn’t make any type of move.
I clear my throat and step back. “Good. That looks good.”
“Do you want me to putt from that nine-foot range?” he asks.
“Yeah. Let’s start there.”
He runs through an hour of exercises. I watch him and offer suggestions. I try a couple more times to make flirty comments or position myself closer to him than is absolutely necessary, but he doesn’t bite.
By the time our practice is winding down, I’m feeling stupid and frustrated. Holland says he’s into me, and yesterday, I swore he was, but today? Not so much.
“Alright. That’s enough. Let’s be done.”
“You sure?” He leans against his club. “I can do more.”
“You’ve done plenty.” I turn away from him. “Besides, you’ve got another date to prep for.”
I hate how petty I sound. I hate all of this. I stride over to where I parked my golf cart, and I’m about halfway there when a hand wraps around my wrist.
“Mallory, wait.” Holland is at my side, but I feel so humiliated I can’t look at him. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”
I spin to face him. “What’s going on? I don’t know. Nothing, Holland! Because I thought you were into me. I was dying to get out here with you, away from the cameras. And you’re all business. I can’t get a read on you, and now I’m questioning everything, and I can’t function like this. That’s what’s going on.”
Holland drops his chin to his chest, and my heart flies to my throat. This is it. He’s going to break up with me right now. Canit even be called breaking up if we weren’t technically together? I don’t know.
When he looks up at me, his eyes are warm and earnest. Tears cloud my vision, but I pinch them off like a champ. I will not cry.
“You think I’m not into you?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know!” I throw up my hands. “I was trying to be flirty, and you shut me down. What am I supposed to think?”
“I was trying to prove to you that I respect you as a coach!”
“You…” I pause. “What?”
