Page 77 of Houston, We Have a Problem
“I don’t think you really want to know. If I tell you, it’s not something you can unknow.”
I slowly lift my head, wishing I had been a worse brother and ignored his text. I could have still been living in my happy bubble. “Then don’t tell me. If it’s important, I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“Even if it might be too late?”
It might already be too late. I’ve fallen for her, and I doubt there is much that will get in the way of that outside of something truly shocking. I don’t think Darcy is capable of lying, though she may be good at stretching the truth or skirting around issues. Is that any better? I don’t know. But I don’t want my brother putting a rift between us that doesn’t need to be there.
Chad’s phone pings, and he pulls up some sort of video.
I recognize Tamlin’s voice immediately and roll my eyes. “You set up an alert for Tamlin Park? Why?”
“Because you took an interest in her. And she’s clearly interested in you.” He goes quiet as he turns up the volume on a live video on Tamlin’s social media page, turning his phone so I can see.
“Harrison claims he has designed the perfect putter,” she says brightly as she stands in the middle of a sunny golf course, “and so far it has lived up to the hype. Why don’t you tell us about this putter, Mr. Harrison.”
The guy—a middle aged man with a subdued demeanor—quietly explains some of the details about the putter and all of the tests he put it through before he settled on what he thinks is the perfect design.
“And how about you demonstrate it a few times and show us how it makes the shot every time.”
The guy does so, moving around to several balls that have already been placed at different distances around the hole. Hehits each one in with precision, and Tamlin gets more excited every time. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her smile this much while on camera. Especially not this real smile. There isn’t a single trace of fake in that smile, and she’s practically glowing out there in the sunshine.
“Isn’t that amazing?” Tamlin says to whomever is holding the camera. “Now, let’s see if I can make it work. I happen to be a pretty good golfer, but I’m hoping this putter will help me qualify for The Masters.”
She lines up her shot—from the looks of things, she really does have some skills with the sport—but her swing is just a little too hard and the ball overshoots the hole. Her next shot rolls along the hole’s edge but doesn’t make it in. Her final putt looks like it’s going to be perfect, but then it stops just shy of falling in.
Though Harrison looks horrified, Tamlin is more excited than ever.
“Well, you’re not trying very hard,” Harrison mumbles. I don’t think he remembered he’s got a mic attached to his collar.
Tamlin’s smile doesn’t falter. “Tell you what,” she says. “If I don’t make this shot, I owe you a hundred bucks. I don’t like to lose.”
I know that much about her, and I chuckle a little thinking about how competitive she was at trivia night. If I had swallowed my ego and let her answer more questions, we probably would have won.
I really should send her a picture of my tutu. She’d get a kick out of that.
Harrison agrees to the bet, and Tamlin drops another golf ball about three yards from the hole. She lines up, sticking her tongue between her lips, and hits the ball. Yet again, it rolls right to the edge of the hole but doesn’t make it in.
Harrison looks devastated, like he’s about ready to tear the mic off and head straight back to his workshop.
Tamlin, on the other hand, puts her hand on his arm and sends him a warm smile that looks so familiar, even if I’ve barely been around her enough to get a natural smile like that. That smile feels like it’s a part of me somehow. “How about this?” she says and tosses a few more balls onto the green. “If you can sink all of these, I’ll give you a thousand bucks.”
Harrison’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What? Why? It’s clearly not a perfect putter.”
“Humor me. We may still prove there’s a perfect putter here.”
I get what she’s going for. Harrison has probably spent so much time testing his putters that he’ll be able to hit every single ball in without problem, no matter which club he uses. Did Tamlin expect that the whole time? She must have, with the way she’s ready to prove her point.
Sure enough, Harrison hits one, two, three balls in perfectly. He lines up to the fourth, sweat beading on his forehead, and takes his time with this one. He shouldn’t have worried. The ball rolls right into the hole along with the others, and Tamlin grins so wide she looks like she might start laughing.
“Well, there you have it,” she tells the camera. “No tool can be perfect, but if you take the time to practice like Larry Harrison,youcould be. I’m Tamlin Park from Enhance Media, enjoying the sun here in Albuquerque. Hey Harrison, how about a round of golf? Just know, I’m nowhere near as talented as you, so I’ll probably need some pointers. Until next time!” She salutes the camera, and the video ends.
That’s the kind of stories she should be telling. The ones that celebrate the average athlete or the people who have worked hard to get to where they are. I can’t imagine she enjoys tearing people down the way she has been over the last couple of years. And the way she smiled? I could get used to a smile like that.
Chad clears his throat.Right. Lunch.
I sit up—I’d been leaning closer to the screen apparently—just in time for our tacos to arrive. “What?”
He raises an eyebrow. “If only you could see the stupid smile on your face. You sure you don’t have any interest in the reporter?”
