Page 8 of Fore-Ever Yours

I nod my head slowly.

“But I’m sure you already know that,” he adds with a smirk.

“I’m just trying to figure out who’s involved in this rumor with me. Turns out I still don’t know who you are.”

His gaze softens. “Well, I may have a remedy for that.”

“Smooth.”

And here’s the part where the devastatingly handsome man asks me out. Maybe I am the star of a romcom.

“No, not like that,” he quickly clarifies.

Okay, offensive. I take it back…he’s not allthat.

He continues, “I mean, I’m not saying you’re not pretty or anything, cause you are. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Can I come in and try to redeem myself here? Or we can go to Coffee Loft if you want to be out in public.”

Invite a stranger into my house? He could be a serial killer. Hence, the lack of online presence. Or go to the town’s go-to shop where the Madame C’s can spread more rumors? No thanks. I’ll take my chances with being murdered.

“Come on in.” I sway my hand toward the living room, then quickly follow and slam my computer shut. “Want a coffee? I just put on a fresh pot.”

“Sure, that’d be nice.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black is fine.”

Maybe he really is a murderer. Black coffee is disgusting. I like flavor and a side of health risks with mine. I walk to the kitchen. Thankfully, my parents’ house was built in the eighties, and open concept wasn’t a thing yet, so I’m out of his eyesight.

When I reach for two mugs, I realize my phone is still in my hand and the call with Desi is still open.

“Hey, I’ll call you back.”

“Everything okay?”

“Uh…Matthew is here. At my house.”

“What!” she screams, and I pull it away from my ear.

“I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Yes, you will! K, bye.”

I put my phone in my pocket and pour the coffee.

Ugh, now all I can think about is him being a serial killer.

Okay, Beth, deep breath.

Don’t be weird.

If he acts suspicious, I’ll call Ethan. I pull my phone back out to prep his number…just in case.

I walk back into the living room, hand Matthew his (gross) black coffee, and take a sip of mine. Mmm, perfectly sweet with a faint taste of hazelnut.

“Let me start over. I’m Matthew Wilkes, pro golfer.” He holds his hand out to me.

I put my hand in his. It’s warm and callused, which I didn’t notice the first time.

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