Page 77 of Perfect Praise

My stomach turns heavy and drops like a rock. I’ve never considered the fact that Locke is probably telling Conrad all about me. Maybe they’re laughing at me behind my back while Locke recalls every position he’s had me in.

Heat unfurls across my cheeks, feeling like an inexperienced and childish thirteen-year-old. I can’t imagine the things Conrad probably now knows, especially with all the curious attention he’s given me.

Camille sighs when I continue, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Can we just finish this and then watch a rom-com please?” before she nods.

I’ve been missing this—just me and her. The girl time. I have no friends to talk to anymore, but whatever I said to them would just travel along the grapevine and make its way back to Russ if I did. For some reason though, I still don’t want to talk to Camille. I’m on an island alone—in both a good and bad way.

I snatch the instructions out of her hand and flatten it out on the floor in front of me. I stare, holding back the tears wanting to push through. It takes me reading the first two lines and over twenty seconds of pure confusion before I realize I’m looking at the instructions in French.

In the tiniest moment of weakness, I pick up my phone and google Locke Hughes.

The first article has a photo of him kissing my wrist at the golf range yesterday. It only shows the back of my head, but the first thing I notice is Locke’s dark eyes—how trained they are on my face, like he can’t look away. It’s every bit as vehement as I remember.

The headline reads: Locke In Love.

I wonder what the headline would be if the world actually knew the truth.

I truly wish Icould do this every day—instead of following men around as they swing clubs and try to hit a tiny ball into a tiny hole.

Emmie is the cutest mini-human to ever exist (I’ll reevaluate when Parker, Jr. is born) in her ruffled blush pink dress and white monogrammed bloomers. I’d eat her cheeks in the un-creepiest way possible.

I adjust the bow on her white headband and step back.

Elise looks equally as stunning barefoot in a white maxi dress, and Emmie is the most happy and comfortable babbling baby in her arms.

I want to wrap this feeling around me tight. The sun setting perfectly above the water. The light casting over Elise’s and Emmie’s smiles. The way Blake coos and then jumps up and down behind me when I want Emmie to look at the camera. I haven’t clicked the shutter this many times in months.

These are the little moments of life I want to capture and allow people to cherish—not the moment a golf ball rolls into a hole or when a golfer is in their backswing.

I want people’s memories to live forever on their walls, in picture frames on the mantle. I’d be responsible for bringing someone joy.

Honestly, it’s like a people pleaser’s wet dream, and my career dream wrapped into one.

As Elise spins, I snap a few before I tell them, “Now, walk toward me.”

I back up a few feet slowly to let Elise take her time. Every minute I have to stop to make sure I’ve gotten some good ones, and then I proceed to gush about just how damn good they are.

“Elise! I can’t wait to start editing these. You look beautiful. Okay, put Emmie down on the blanket,” I instruct her.

With Emmie on her back on the white blanket I laid down in the grass, she kicks her feet into the air and sucks on her toes.

“Someone discovered their toes,” I murmur in my baby voice.

Conrad, sitting on the porch behind me, chuckles. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye. For the last hour, he’s just been staying around the perimeter of this bubble, watching, observing,judging.

Since I slept at Camille’s last night, Locke and I took separate cars to the tournament today, and when I made it back home, his family was already here.

Instead of sticking around to watch the fuss, Locke took off on his golf cart to practice.

After snapping a million and one pictures of Emmie kicking happily, I motion to the back porch steps. “I’d love to take some of the whole family if that’s okay.”

“Why do you think I look like this?” Blake says, laughing. She looks sun-kissed and ready in a flowing white shirt and jeans. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Conrad smirks at her as he rises from the black wicker chair. “You’re lucky Maren is so nice.” When he sits beside Blake, he drapes an arm over her shoulder and kisses her temple before looking back at me. “Actually, we all got lucky Locke likes you so much.”

Blake pipes up before I can since my tongue is now lead. “Psh, no, I think we’re lucky you like Locke so much. We’re obsessed with youalmostas much as he is.”

“Oh,” I choke, then cough out, “No, it’s not that. Us. We’re not an us. You know. I just needed a place to live.”

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