Page 6 of The Perfect Putt

“I’m going to do the dishes first, then I’ll go.”

“I can do the dishes,” she says.

“I know that, but you worked all day, then made dinner for us, and put a fussy Archie to bed. I’m happy to help. You finish up laundry,” I tell her and she sighs but ends up walking back to the bed with the heaping pile of clothes on top.

It’s a miracle she didn’t put up more of a fight. Or maybe it’s a sign that she’s burnt out. She spends all day chasing Archie around while also trying to get her projects done. Then at the end of the day she takes care of everything herself.

I walk through her bedroom door and head toward the kitchen. Along the way, I pick up toys and little baby clothes to place in a pile on the couch. If she catches me doing anything extra she’ll kick me out. Once I make it to the kitchen, I allow my mind to roam past my sister and Archie, and focus on my own life.

The life that has my feet and back aching as if I’m much older than twenty-three. After my shift at Coastal Coffee, I went to Sand Dollar Diner and helped Diane organize their finances in an excel sheet. The diner is by far the best restaurant in Coastal Cove, but it’s a humble little shack with owners who aren’t tech-savvy. I fell in love with the place after the first bite of Mrs. Diane’s famous key lime pie, and the more I got to know the owners, the more my love grew. Now I help with their bookkeeping in exchange for a free meal or two.

Even though I love Diane and her husband Paulie, it’s hard to go from serving customers all day to staring at numbers on a screen while Diane tells me how she can’t remember where the receipt from her last supply order is. If it wasn’t for the anticipation of my interview with Miles, I’d probably be asleep on the pile of laundry Naomi is folding. I know, because it’s happened before. Multiple times.

A sigh escapes me as I turn on the water faucet to start washing the pots and pans. Hopefully–if I get it–this new job will be a little easier on me. At the very least, I’ll be able to save up to leave it faster. Then I’ll open up a flower shop on Wave Way, Coastal Cove’s main street and social hub. I’ll have my own little brick building in the line of stores. I’ll create the most magnificent floral displays to go outside. The inside will be a rainbow of different flowers, and smell like a botanical garden. I can work the counter or hire someone else to while I work on arranging the orders. It will be beautiful and lovely and mine. I just have to save up the money to buy it first.

Chapter four

Miles Day

I adjust my water glass, then check my watch. Ten minutes until the interview I scheduled with Ellie is supposed to start. I got to the club a few minutes early so that I could be sure we had a table. While having the interview in the dining hall isn’t ideal–what with all the prying eyes–I couldn’t have it at my house. After all the issues I’ve had with past assistants, there’s no way I’m inviting a stranger over to my house. The only other place I would have considered would be Sand Dollar Diner, but it seems wrong to bring business into a place that feels more like home.

I do wish I had some of Paulie and Diane’s food right now though. I’d much rather have a burger and fries than the seafood-heavy menu here at the club. While most people in Coastal Cove love seafood, I hate it. Even the smell makes me gag. It’s one of the reasons why the diner is my favorite spot on the island, because it has no seafood on the menu. The other reason is that I grew up going there after school for french fries and key lime pie. Sand Dollar Diner was my safe haven. My parents would never be caught dead there, so I was safe from their scrutiny and their arguments.

“I’m here to meet with Miles Day,” a soft voice says, drawing me out of my reverie. I lift my gaze to find the hostess escorting a beautiful redhead over to my table. The woman who I assume is Ellie Hart, walks with her head held high. Her auburn ponytail swings behind her and her gaze is confident and sharp beneath the white visor shading her face. She doesn’t smile, not even when our eyes lock. I stand when she gets closer.

“Ellie Hart?” I ask and she nods, then holds out her hand. I envelop it with my own and shake it, almost jerking it back at the unwelcome tingle that accompanies her touch. What was that? She pulls her hand back just as fast, which is unusual for the women I interview. They tend to hang on to my hand like a life raft in rough waters.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ellie says. She’s wearing a faint smile now, but it reads professional and borderline forced. Another less than typical response. Most of the interviews I’ve had have been overly eager with bright smiles and gushing words about my success.

“You as well.” I gesture for her to sit down and we both settle into the chairs at the same time. “So, how do you know Jada?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve met her while going to a few of her events in the past, but I found out about the job through my friend Molly. She’s known Jada for a few years now.” She speaks like she’s reading items off a resume instead of talking about a personal connection.

“So Jada recommended a friend of a friend. Should I be worried about your credibility?” My question is mostly a joke, though with my record, it’s a fair question.

“You have my resume, and this interview should assuage the remainder of your fears.” Assuage? Who talks like that? I think she’s just a year younger than me–if I’m recalling her resume correctly–but she sounds as if she’s twenty years my senior.

“I’ve interviewed plenty of people who turned out to be less than credible in the past,” I say in an attempt to ruffle her. “What’s stopping you from filming me in my pajamas and using it as blackmail?”

Surprise flickers over her features. She blinks it away, quickly composing herself. Too quickly for my liking. “Rest assured I won’t blackmail you,” she says, her tone dry.

I’m about to find another button to push, when our waiter approaches. Ellie assures him that she’s fine with just water, then orders a chicken caesar salad with a side of french fries. I order the lemon grilled chicken over saffron rice. Once the waiter walks off toward the kitchen, Ellie meets my gaze again. Her confidence is undeniable, but I can see the unease in her deep brown eyes as well. I decide to pull back. I need to keep things professional, as tempting as it is to mess with this enigma of a woman.

“Tell me about your work history.”

She begins to tell me how she interned at two different companies in college before moving to Coastal Cove to be close to her sister. Her professional demeanor softens for a moment when she mentions her sister, and I wonder why but don’t ask. I don’t need to be involved in her personal life.

“I started working at Coastal Coffee shortly after moving because it was the only place available, but I do think it taught me valuable skills that can transfer over into this job.”

“An assistant does need to know how to make a good cup of coffee,” I joke. Or rather, I try to joke. She merely stares at me, unamused. I clear my throat and continue. “So, what made you want to apply for this job? Are you a golf fan?”

She makes a little noise that sounds almost like a laugh, but not quite.

“I applied because this job pays more than my current one,” she says and I raise my eyebrows at her straightforward answer. “I’m not really a fan of golf, but I can assure you that won’t affect my work.”

It’s probably a good thing that she’s not a fan, because it means that she’s less likely to bother other golfers at events. I had an assistant one time that I had to have security drag out of a party because he wouldn’t stop harassing the other golfers there for autographs and photos. I wouldn’t have minded him asking for an autograph, but he wanted the signatures on his stomach.

“Good to know.” I pause as our server comes up and sets down our food. Ellie thanks him as he walks away. So she has good manners, but isn’t overly polite. Interesting.

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