Page 5 of The Perfect Putt

“It’s a classic.” She sounds more offended than someone should about a movie.

“You still haven’t given your reasoning behind a tennis skirt. He’s a golfer, not a tennis player.” I change the subject.

She huffs and starts matching tiny socks up. “Haven’t you seen all the women that prance around town in those? It’s a part of the fashion. You’ll look like you fit in.”

“It doesn’t seem very professional,” I say as I consider her words. I have seen many a customer come in with skirts and polos on, bragging about how their man has a meeting on the course with the director of some major company with an obscure name. But that doesn’t mean it’s the best option for an interview.

“Then wear a pencil skirt, but you’re going to look out of place at the club.”

I sigh and walk over to her wooden dresser to dig through it. She’s probably right, even if the thought of dressing like a golfer–or wife of one–makes my skin itch. But I don’t want to stand out, and I certainly will at a place like Crescent Beach Country Club if I don’t dress the part.

“I can’t believe you’re going to work for Miles Day. Of all the people, I would not have thought him.”

“Me either,” I say dryly as I tug a white tennis skirt out of the drawer. It’s a little wrinkled, but after I steam it, it should work. “But double the pay and only having to make coffee for one person other than myself, sounds pretty nice.”

“What if he asks you about golf?” Naomi giggles when I shoot her a flat look.

“Hopefully he doesn’t, but if he does I suppose I’ll have to tell him the truth.”

“That you hate golf with a passion that burns as hot as the sun?” she says and I snort.

“I think I’ll just tell him I’m not a fan.” A smile twists my lips. “And my hatred for it burns hotter than the sun, actually.”

She laughs. “Forgive me for underestimating you.” She gestures to the closet. “There are a few polos in there that would probably match.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a polo in your life,” I say as I step over the pile of clothes I plan on shoving in a trash bag on my way out. I won’t actually throw it away. But I can’t tell her I’m taking them to the thrift store, because she’ll go and try to find them again.

“Just because you haven’t seen me wear them, doesn’t mean I haven’t.” I pull out a blue polo shirt with the tags still attached and raise a brow. “That one is new, because I loved the other ones so much I needed another color.”

I shake my head at her and take the shirt off the hanger. “This will have to do. I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“You are not. Oh!” She hops up from the bed and walks into her en suite bathroom. “You should wear this,” she says, coming out with a white visor.

“I’m going to be indoors, I don’t need a visor.”

“It’s called accessorizing.” She pushes it toward me. I eye it with uncertainty.

“Because you know so much about that,” I say with a laugh. She’s currently wearing black leggings and an oversized grey t-shirt that I think is on backwards. It also has streaks on it from where Archie clenched her shirt in his yogurt-covered hands during dinner.

“You cannot judge me based on this one outfit. I used to be young and hot,” she says defensively.

I roll my eyes. “You are young and hot. You just dress like those people you watch online that crawl into store dumpsters to find free stuff.”

She bursts into laughter, swatting my arm with the visor. “I do not!”

I start laughing with her, unable to hold back. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. She doesn’t laugh as much as she used to, so I soak it up every time she does.

“You do, but that’s okay. I would too if I worked from home,” I say as my laughter subsides.

In order to avoid sending Archie to daycare or hiring a sitter, Naomi is a web designer. She does her work around Archie’s sleep schedule, or whenever she can distract him long enough with an activity. I try to come by and help her when I’m off, but she usually refuses to let me.

“No you wouldn’t, you’d wear linen and bikinis and spend half the day outside.”

She’s not wrong. My two favorite places to be are my backyard flower garden and the beach.

I shrug. “Either way, I wouldn’t be wearing anything country club appropriate that’s for sure.”

“I think you’ll look cute.” She pushes the visor on my head. I give her a flat look. “Now head home to rest.”

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