Page 31 of The Perfect Putt

“Archie!” she squeals and grabs the sprayer from him. Instead of stopping his fun though, she turns it around and effectively drenches my little nephew. He spins in a circle, having the time of his life. I smile watching them so carefree. A sudden ache hits my chest. The breathless feeling that grief tends to cause. I wish Owen were here. He’d throw Naomi over his shoulder and let Archie chase them. His laughter would probably draw attention from the neighbors because of how loud it was. And when we were all heaving with exhaustion, he’d pull Naomi in for a kiss that I’d say was gross but really was a thing of novels and movies. A symbol of the kind of love that I’d wish for on every star and blow out every birthday candle just to have a glimpse of.

I don’t stay in my melancholy for long, because Naomi picks up Archie and rushes me with the hose. Before I know it, I’m soaked too and trying to wrestle the sprayer away from her. Mid-tussle I hear the sound of my doorbell ringing. Naomi stops drenching me and we look at each other, brows furrowed. No one rings my doorbell. Not even the mailman.

“I’ll go see who it is,” I say and start to wring my hair out.

“Who on earth would ring the doorbell?” she asks and I shrug. Archie tries to reach for the hose again, but Naomi holds it out of reach.

“Only one way to find out.”

I walk to the side gate. My feet are covered in grass and dirt, so there’s no way I’m walking through my house like this. And I don’t want to leave someone waiting while I clean them off. I turn the corner and freeze in place. There on my front porch is the man I spent all night trying to get out of my head.

“Miles?” I say and he turns toward me. He’s wearing what looks to be green swim trunks, with a PGA Tour t-shirt and a pair of dark sunglasses that I can’t see his eyes through. Which is unfortunate, because I’d like to know if he’s looking me over in the way that I think he is.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Sutton and Shaw are shopping down on Wave Way,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks. “I knew we were close by, and Sutton mentioned inviting you to hang out with us since it’s their last day here. I probably should have called.” He shifts back and forth on his feet. Is he nervous? Why does that thought make my heart leap?

“Oh, well I’m not exactly dressed for shopping,” I say and gesture to my outfit.

My face heats when I realize I’m wearing a bathing suit top, shorts, and a linen button down I’ve left open. I tug the wet shirt around me self-consciously. Though it’s white, so it’s probably not giving me much coverage.

“I was gardening,” I explain, looking down at my feet. “Naomi and Archie are here and we got into a little bit of a water fight when I let him help with the hose.”

“Sounds like fun,” he says and I look back up to find him smiling. My lips turn up involuntarily.

“It was.” We stay staring and smiling at each other, not saying anything. After a minute he clears his throat.

“So you’re busy right now,” he says, then scratches the back of his neck.

“Kind of,” I reply, my heart sinking. This is a good thing, I tell myself. You already see him enough.

“What about later? I’m having a bonfire on the beach tonight. Fitz and Jada will be there too.”

“And what about Kira?” I ask before I think.

“No Kira,” he says, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a boyish grin. The feelings I'd buried start to spring up like flower buds.

“Will me coming make things worse on you? I don’t want them to mess with you more because of me.”

“You sure about that, Red? You seem to like messing with me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. It’s a bad idea to go, but it’s hard to say no when he’s standing there grinning at me. Even though he’s a few feet away, it feels like he’s right in front of me. As close as he was last night, whispering that nickname in my ear at the bar. And later, his hands gripping my waist, his eyes burning with something far beyond friendly.

“I like it better when it’s just me bothering you,” I say.

“Me too,” he replies and my stomach flips. “You should come though. I’ll get in more trouble if you don’t. They’ll blame me.”

“Okay, I’ll come.”

“Good.” His grin widens. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“See you at seven,” I echo.

He walks down my porch, then looks over his shoulder.

“You look good like this, Red.” My heart stutters in my chest. “You look happy.” I wish those blasted sunglasses were off his face. It’s so hard to read him with them on. Is he teasing me? Is this something more?

“I am,” I reply, not sure what else to say.

---