Page 39 of The Perfect Putt

“I don’t like this system,” I say as I turn onto Wave Way.

“And I don’t like the economic system that says a guy who plays golf for a living gets to own a vintage Bronco. Did you even go to college?”

I laugh. “I did not.”

She sighs. “Life isn’t fair.”

I stop at a stop sign, giving me the chance to look over at her. She’s wearing a soft smile, her pink lips turned up just barely at the corners. Her hair is up in a hair tie that Sutton made Shaw give her off his wrist. I don’t know why he had one, or why he looked so forlorn at giving it to Ellie, but she’s got it now. A few curls have escaped the bun on top of her head, delicately framing her heart-shaped face. She reaches up to tuck one of them behind her ear, her fingertips barely poking out of my sweatshirt sleeve.

“It really isn’t,” I agree with her under my breath before I turn down her road.

If life was fair, then maybe I would have had parents who showed me the idyllic version of marriage. The version where the couple ends up with gray hair, reminiscing about their life together over coffee. But I suppose even that wouldn’t have made a difference in the long run. I’d have been more apt to date Ellie, but the chances of disaster and divorce are still the same. If it weren't my parents, it could have been us. That’s just the way it goes, and that is why life is unfair.

I pull up to Ellie’s cottage with the sage green door and dismiss my thoughts. I’m here as her friend, I don’t need to be lamenting over what never was and could never be.

“Give me your keys and I’ll get the door open then come back for you,” I say and she huffs as she pulls her keys out of her pocket.

“I don’t need to be carried again.” She hands me the keys.

“You can hop around like a stubborn flamingo once I’m gone, but until then, I’m carrying you.”

I step out of the truck and grab the cooler before going to her door. The memory of standing at this same door and seeing her drenched with a giant smile cuts through me. How am I going to burn those images from my mind when she eventually moves on? Though she hasn’t told me what they are, I know she has dreams. Those ambitions are going to take her away one day and all I’ll have left is the brief time we spent together. Maybe we’ll stay friends after she quits, but with my schedule it’s unlikely. We’ll probably end up passing each other in town. Wave when one of us walks into the diner or share a smile when we see each other across the bar at Hank’s. The thought makes my heart sink and my stomach hurt.

With a shake of my head, I push open her front door. I’m immediately hit with the sweet scent of fresh blooms. There are flowers everywhere. Her living room is like the beach and a garden intersected right in her home. There’s a pale blue couch with a crochet blanket that resembles fishing net, rattan chairs with shell prints on the cushions, and various shells scattered throughout the bookshelves framing the TV. Her coffee table resembles an old wooden chest, something akin to what a pirate would store their treasure in. And on top is one of many floral arrangements throughout the space. There are mason jars filled with colorful flowers sitting in every window sill, and all of the eclectic vases on her shelves are full as well.

I walk into her kitchen to find a collection of glass bottles and recycled jars with some stems and scissors beside them. Some of the jars have blooms, others don’t. It looks like she abandoned her project right before she came to my house. I set the cooler down by the fridge and smile when I see the photos on the front. The whole door is a collage, with pictures of her, Naomi, Molly, and Archie. As well as some of who I’d guess are her parents, and various snapshots of the beach. It’s clear that she loves her friends and family. I wonder what it would feel like to be loved enough to make it on this fridge.

Don’t be a fool, I chastise myself as I turn to head back to the Bronco. You can never have that.

With that pleasant thought ringing in my mind, I open the passenger side door. Ellie looks at me through half-closed eyes.

“I got so tired all of a sudden,” she murmurs.

“Come on, Red. Let’s get you inside so you can sleep.”

I unbuckle her seatbelt for her, then lift her up bridal style once more. She curls up against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I hope she can’t tell how fast my heart is beating from her being so close. Her windchime greets us with a soft song as I step up onto her porch. I carry her inside, the floral scent mixing with her citrus one, turning into a combination I won’t ever forget. Like a wraith in the night, it’ll haunt me.

“First door on the right,” Ellie says, her lips brushing against my neck. I clench my jaw as tingles erupt from the spot. I need to get out of here and away from her.

I go down the hallway and with some careful maneuvering, I get the door open. As soon as I enter, I regret it. The mix of flowers and citrus is stronger here, and there’s something entirely too intimate about carrying Ellie to bed while she’s wearing my clothes.

As gently as possible, I lay her on her unmade bed. I grab a pillow shaped like a seashell and softly lift her hurt ankle to prop it up. Then I cover her up with the fluffy lavender comforter that was strewn across the foot of the bed. Her red hair stands out even more against the pale purple. She looks ethereal, or maybe fantastical. A fairy sleeping on a watercolor cloud.

“Do you need anything before I leave?” I ask her. There are a few strands of hair on her forehead, and I give in to the urge to brush them back. Her skin is soft under my calloused fingers. I wonder how it would feel beneath my lips.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, Miles,” she says in a soft tone. My name on her lips almost undoes me entirely, but I force myself to take a step back. To say goodnight and walk out of her bedroom door, then out of her little fairy cottage.

This is for the best, I tell myself, but the words seem hollow. I’m not sure what’s best anymore.

Chapter twenty-one

Miles Day

I hang my keys on the hook in the garage, then walk inside, expecting a dark and quiet house. Except I shouldn’t have expected that, considering I know Shaw Daniels. He’s lounging on the couch, propped up on the pillows–the ones from my bed–I brought out for Ellie. The highlights from Emmett’s game are on the TV.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, though I know he stayed up to talk to me. “You’re going to regret staying up so late tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll regret not having this conversation more,” he replies.

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