Page 21 of The Perfect Putt

“Thanks again,” she says with a sleepy smile. The sight steals my breath because she so rarely smiles in such a relaxed manner.

“Get some rest, Red. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I tell her, my voice sounding raspier than intended. She mumbles something that sounds like see you tomorrow, then closes the door and walks to her front porch. I wait until she’s safely inside to back out and leave. Then I drive home and hope that by tomorrow morning, whatever I’m feeling will have faded away.

Chapter twelve

Ellie Hart

I wake up feeling like I drank too much the night before. My mouth dry, my dress still on, and makeup crusted over my eyelids. With a groan, I pull myself out of bed and press the off button on my seashell alarm clock. When I first moved to Coastal Cove, I thought all the beachy decorations were kitschy. Now…I still do, but I gave in. It’s not like I live in Nebraska with an ocean-themed bathroom. Not that I’d judge anyone for that, because if I up and moved today I’d take all my decor with me.

Mascara flakes onto my hands as I rub my eyes. Not the best choice, but it feels great. I fumble around for my slippers, then shuffle to my bathroom. I avoid the mirror entirely. There’s no reason for me to confirm my racoon status by looking into it. Instead, I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it, and pull the cleansing balm from my skincare drawer. Once I’ve massaged the balm into my face, I use a soft cloth to remove it, then step into the steamy shower with a loud sigh.

The warm rushing water clears my head and yesterday’s memories come flooding back to my mind. Sharing about Owen’s death. Touching Miles’ arm throughout the day and feeling my stomach swoop each time, but being unable to resist. Miles’ green eyes burning through me as I walked over to him after changing. Feeling his gaze on me the rest of the night. His clean, fresh scent enveloping me as I curled up under his jacket. The raspy way he said Red as he dropped me off…

“I’m in trouble,” I whisper beneath the jet of water.

As I exfoliate my body with a eucalyptus salt scrub, I imagine that I’m scraping away my feelings as well as the dead skin. But when all is said and done, just like the scent of my soap and hair products, my emotions linger.

Usually, the act of going through my hair routine is almost meditative. With each product application and technique used, I lose myself in the monotony of a pattern I know well. But not today. Today, I think of Miles with each step. I even have to open up Curly Q–the app I use to build my routine and buy my hair products–because suddenly I can’t remember if oil or gel comes first.

By the time I finish drying my hair with my diffuser attachment, I’ve arrived at a terrible conclusion: I like Miles Day. I like his messy hair that’s the color of beach sand after it rains. I like his green eyes that remind me of the sea glass in the wind chime on my front porch. I like his passion and determination. I even like the stupid smirk he gives me when he’s teasing me, and the way he chuckles at my sassy remarks. Against all odds–or rather against the fact that he plays golf–I like him. And I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s not like I know anything about him. The only personal thing I know about him is that he doesn’t have a good relationship with his mom. Everything else I know could probably be found out by Googling him. So this is all just based on physical attraction. I can deal with that. It’s just a silly little crush, I reassure myself as I change into a matching athletic skirt and tank top set I ordered off Amazon.

Once I’m dressed for the day, I forego makeup and decide to use the extra time to walk to Coastal Coffee. It’s not far from my house–not much is in Coastal Cove–and I could use the pick me up. And maybe a chat with my best friend. As I’m walking out the door, I send Miles a text.

Ellie: I’m going to walk to Coastal Coffee. Do you mind picking me up there?

Miles: That’s fine.

Okay. We’re back to awkward texts, I see. Does that mean he felt what I did? The last time he pulled away was after I saw him shirtless, so it would stand to reason that this is a similar situation. Sighing, I text him back.

Ellie: Want me to order anything for you? It’s on me, since you dropped me off last night.

Miles: I dropped you off to keep you safe, not as a favor. You don’t owe me anything.

A warm bubbly feeling overtakes me, like sea-foam in my veins. I shake my head. I need to get a grip and quit thinking like a teenager with a crush. I’m better than this.

Ellie: I appreciate that, which is why I’m going to show my gratitude by buying you a coffee.

Miles: Iced americano.

I scrunch my nose up. That’s just espresso and water. What kind of weirdo drinks that? That alone threatens to dissolve any feelings I have toward him. Not really, but I wish it would. Instead, it makes me want to make fun of him about it until he teases me back and makes my skin heat.

Ellie: Gross, but okay, I’ll see you soon.

Miles: See you soon, Red.

I lock my phone and bite my lip. This is not good. I cannot get butterflies from a text. As soon as Coastal Coffee comes into view, I pick up speed. If I want time to talk to Molly, I need to get there well before Miles does. I hope she’s not too busy this morning.

A sigh of relief leaves my lungs as I walk into a mostly empty shop. Molly is sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading what looks to be some kind of business manual. She’s always reading books on leadership and business in her off time. Since she never went to college, she says she reads these to make up for her lack of education. I’ve told her time and time again that her experience running the shop is worth more than anything she’ll find in a book, but she still fills a basket every week at the library with them.

“Hey, Molls,” I say when she doesn’t look up.

“Ellie! I thought you’d be on your way to work already.” She hops down off the stool and heads to the espresso machine, immediately starting on a caramel iced coffee. It’s my go-to drink, year round. It doesn’t matter where I am, or how cold it is, I’m always drinking iced coffee. It’s the superior choice.

“Can you make an iced americano too? Miles is actually picking me up today,” I explain when she raises a brow at my request.

“You’re buying him a drink? And he’s picking you up?”

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