Page 45 of The Perfect Putt

I clear my throat. “We should get to the course. Don’t want to be late for tee time.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she says as I help her into the Bronco.

“Do you even know what a tee time is?” I ask her and she presses her lips together. “You’ve been scheduling them for a few weeks now, how do you not know?”

“I don’t have to know what they are to book them on the website,” she says and I shake my head.

“I can’t believe this.” I shut her door then walk around to get in on the driver’s side.

“I told you I hated it. I didn’t want to know anything about it if I could help it,” she says once I’m in the car. Her comment would sting if she wasn’t showing interest today.

“But now you do.”

“Now I do.”

She toys with the bracelets on her wrist. She’s wearing white athletic shorts today, paired with a lavender polo shirt. She’d fit in just fine at the club if it wasn’t for the stacks of bracelets on her arms and the anklet I spot when she curls her left leg under her. The only jewelry the women at the club wear are diamonds and pearls. I’m taken back to the one night I saw Ellie without all of her bracelets. She wore pearls then, with that little black dress and the heels that made her legs look even longer. I tear my eyes away from her and start to back out of the driveway.

“A tee time is a start time. You book them in advance so that everyone isn’t playing on top of each other,” I explain.

“Oh, that makes sense. I thought it was a start time but I didn’t know why they had so many and why they’re so exact. Isn’t our tee time today something like 7:42?”

“It’s just set at an interval to make sure they can fit the most golfers in a day as possible.”

“What happens if you’re late?” She looks at the clock on the dash.

“You lose your spot. But we’re not going to be late.”

“The only way we wouldn’t be late is if we skipped coffee and breakfast.”

I chuckle. “Or if the coffee was in the cupholder and breakfast in the backseat.”

“How did I not notice that?” She grabs her iced coffee and takes a drink, humming in delight. “Molly makes the best drinks.”

“How do you know Molly made it? Another person was working in there today.”

Molly was in fact the one who filled our order this morning, but I’m curious as to how Ellie can tell.

“I worked there for two years, and whenever I could I’d have Molly make my drink. I hated making my own drinks. Might as well drink coffee at home.” She shudders like that would be the worst thing in the world.

I turn on the road that leads to the course. We should get to the tee box right on time. I would usually arrive earlier, but I wanted to let Ellie sleep in.

“How can you tell that Molly made it though?” I ask.

“She puts an extra half-pump of syrup in.” She pauses, amusement entering her voice. “And she wrote a note on the cup for me in Sharpie.”

I laugh, glancing over when I brake at a stop sign to see her holding up the cup. Molly wrote Have fun at the course! Try not to hit anyone! with a smiley face and a heart at the end.

“Does she think you’re playing today?” I ask through my laughter.

Ellie laughs too. “Either that or I’m driving the cart I guess. I’m surprised she didn’t encourage me to hit someone. She can be rather violent at times.”

“Considering she wanted to feed me to a pack of sharks, I’m surprised too.”

I pull into the club’s parking lot and head to my reserved space. A perk of winning a few majors is getting a nice parking spot right up front. My rival, Zane Hastings, has the one next to mine, but it’s thankfully empty today. The last thing I need is his smug face ruining my day with Ellie.

“How much money did you have to pay to get your own parking spot?” Ellie asks as I shut off the car.

“None, they gave it to me when I won three majors in my first year playing pro.”

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