Page 44 of The Perfect Putt

I look down at his sweatshirt as I brush off the crumbs from the pastry. A thought pokes at my heart. One that I don’t like, but I know is right. Miles has been so supportive of me, while I haven’t even tried to like golf. It’s probably a hopeless cause, but as much as he loves it, I should probably at least try to understand what’s so great about it.

“Hey, Miles?”

“Yeah, Red?” The husky way he says my nickname makes heat pool in my abdomen.

“You have a practice round tomorrow, right?”

“I do, why? Do you need something? I can move my tee time.” I’m going to turn into a puddle if he keeps acting this way. Why does he have to be so considerate? It’s making it very hard to keep my composure.

“No, I was just wondering if I could come with you. I can ride in the golf cart, so I won’t be on my ankle.”

“You…” He blinks and looks at me like I just grew another head. “You want to come watch me play golf?”

I huff. “Don’t act so surprised. I can want to watch golf.”

“Yeah if you have a fever, or the real Ellie was abducted by aliens and you’re her clone.”

Frustration edges out all the fuzzy feelings I had for him moments ago. He acts like I can’t change my mind. Plus, he called me Ellie, when he’s been referring to me as Red. It’s an irrational thing to be upset about, but I am nonetheless.

“I’m not sick or a clone. I just want to see what all the fuss is about. I’m your assistant, I should know.”

“I agree,” he says, but he’s still eyeing me like I’m some kind of wild animal he needs to be cautious of. “It’s just you didn’t seem concerned with this until now.”

I toy with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, feeling self-conscious. How do I tell him I want to know what he loves because I care about him without scaring him off?

“I just want to know what’s going on before I get to the U.S. Open and look dumb for not knowing the rules.”

A small smile turns up the corners of his full lips. He’s looking at me like he sees right through me and my hollow reason. But he doesn’t seem scared, so that’s good.

“All right, Red. You can come golfing with me tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.”

I can’t believe I just willingly made plans that involve golf. Naomi was right. I have it bad.

Chapter twenty-three

Miles Day

The last time I was this excited for a round of golf was my first-ever major tournament. Anticipation has my whole body tingling like I drank one too many americanos. I can’t believe Ellie is tagging along to watch me golf today. I thought she’d start to enjoy it while we were at the U.S. Open, and then maybe I could ease her into loving it over a few months. But here I am, on my way to pick her up so she can watch me play for a few hours. Hopefully, this expedites the process. Because while her quips are funny, it would be nice to have an assistant who understood and at least tolerated the game.

As I pull into her drive, I recognize the truth of why I’m looking forward to this so much. I want Ellie to like golf because I like her. This sport is a huge part of my life, and if I do give this whole relationship thing a shot one day, the person I’m with is going to have to be okay with that. Preferably more than okay with it. I’m still not sure how I feel about pursuing anything serious, but the only woman I’d even consider it for is Ellie, so it would be nice if she didn’t hate my career.

Ellie steps through her front door as I’m getting out of my Bronco. She’s walking, but I can tell she’s keeping her weight off of her right foot as best as she can. I rush to help her down her porch stairs.

“Sutton said I can walk on it if I feel up to it,” Ellie says, her tone on the defensive side.

“I didn’t say anything.” I come up beside her and wrap an arm around her waist. She leans into me as we take the steps one at a time.

“You have that look on your face though. The one you had when you were lecturing me about my unlocked door.”

“Am I not allowed to worry about you?” I ask her when we reach the bottom of the stairs.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes like warm pools of caramel in the morning light. If I dipped my head ever so slightly, our noses would brush. And then our lips. Heat ripples through me. My grip tightens around her waist and she sucks in a breath.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she murmurs. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to all the time.”

The wind picks up around us, rustling her windchimes and startling us apart.

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