Page 14 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter fourteen

Leah | Eleven Months Later | Present Day

Y esterday, my carefully curated selection of golf-related books was arranged perfectly.

Now, the display shelves are completely bare.

It took less than a day for the golf fanatics descending on Starlight Bay to clean out every sports memoir, golf instruction, golf history, and even the handful of mystery and romance novels I’d sourced that featured a hint of golf.

I should be thrilled about the sales spike.

Tabitha certainly is. Instead, we just opened for the day, and I’m focused on restocking the display with new releases or bestsellers that might appeal to the crowd.

And trying not to think about the fact, somewhere in this chaos of media trucks and corporate tents and overly enthusiastic fans wearing visors at seven in the morning, Hays Granger is returning to Starlight Bay.

The bell above the door chimes, but I don’t look up.

Yesterday, I spent the day cursing myself for the flutter of disappointment every time it was just another tourist browsing.

Not that Hays, the ninth-ranked golfer in the world, will sweep into High Tide Tales when he’s focused on The Open. I mean, let’s get real.

So today, I’m facing reality. I won’t get my hopes up. I mean, sure, he wore that mint green polo on a tournament Sunday last year. On my birthday. And, yeah, he seemed to be sending me a message during that trainwreck of a press conference, but the man’s got a major to prepare for.

I’m determined to pretend today is just another day in Starlight Bay, without the possibility that anything out of the ordinary happening. Even so, I put on mascara this morning. And lip gloss. And a spritz of perfume.

But as I slide another book onto the shelf, the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something’s off, but I can’t immediately put my finger on what it is. Maybe, the quiet. Usually customers, especially tourists, are in the middle of animated conversations when they step inside.

Or perhaps, it’s the prickling awareness that zips down my spine. A sensation that someone’s watching me. I turn slowly, my heart racing before my brain fully processes what I’m seeing.

Or rather, who.

Hays leans against a bookcase as if he owns the place, one arm slung across the top, the other tucked into the pocket of his shorts. He’s flashing that same perfect smile with the devastating dimples that’s been haunting my dreams for years. And he’s wearing a mint green polo.

Our eyes meet across twenty feet of hardwood, and suddenly, the air in the store feels charged. Electric. As if lightning is about to strike and I’m standing in the middle of an open field, holding a metal rod.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” His voice is pure velvet, just as smooth and dangerous as I remember.

I grip the edge of the display table. “And you’re premature,” I manage, pleased when my voice comes out steady. “Again.”

His laugh is low and rich, the sound wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. “I’m betting on points for enthusiasm.”

I cross my arms, trying to create some semblance of a barrier between us, though we both know it’s useless. He looks good. Better than good. He’s tan and toned and as magnetic of a force as ever.

But there’s something different about him, too. A…quiet confidence that’s replaced the cocky energy I remember.

It looks as if the years apart have changed us both.

“Plus,” he adds, pushing off the bookshelf and taking a step closer, “it’s an established fact I’m not great at following rules when it comes to you.”

“You made it this long.”

“Turns out my willpower crumbles the second I’m in the same zip code as the woman who owns my heart.”

Oh.

The questions that’ve eaten at me for weeks— Is Hays going to show up, and if he does, what happens then? —are suddenly answered in the blink of an eye.

Where are the throngs of customers who filled this place yesterday? Tabitha’s in the back office, which leaves Hays and me alone. High Tide Tales suddenly feels too small, too intimate for the two of us.

I take a deep breath, but it’s a mistake. The scent of his cologne, exactly as I remember, fills my lungs. I’m transported back to that boat, that night. With the ocean and the sunset and the fireworks. And the kiss.

My gaze drops to his lips, my fingers gripping the paperback in my hand as if it’s an anchor.

“How are you?” he asks softly, studying my face.

How am I? That’s a loaded question considering the irresistible stranger I agreed to marry years ago has just strolled back into my life and told me I still own his heart.

I’m terrified and exhilarated and completely unprepared for how my hormones have kicked in as if I’m a teenager who just spotted her celebrity crush at the mall and forgot how to act like a functioning human being.

I’m suddenly exactly where I was three years ago. Completely defenseless. “I’m…good.”

He reaches up to brush a piece of hair back from my face. “I’m good, too, now.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Our eyes lock, and the air between us hums. Then Hays is moving, reaching into his pocket with that determined expression I remember. He pulls out a small, black-velvet box. My heart stops.

“Hays, no.” I step back, bumping into the display table.

But he’s already dropping to one knee right there between the new releases and the staff picks. He cracks it open to reveal a diamond that catches the morning light and throws rainbows across the ceiling.

It’s round and brilliant. A simple, classic setting I would have chosen if I’d been stupid enough to dream about such things. It’s also ginormous.

“I know I haven’t won and it’s not my birthday yet, and that was the deal. But I can’t wait any longer to make you my wife.”

My breath catches as my vision blurs. I refocus, staring down at this impossible man who’s just upended my quiet little world with a declaration and a rock the size of a golf ball.

“You haven’t won yet,” I whisper, falling back on the logic that’s been my safety net for three years. “You’re still chasing your dream.”

“There hasn’t been a day we’ve been apart I haven’t thought about you.

” He stands but keeps the ring box open between us.

“I’ve measured every moment against the memory of kissing you on that boat.

I’ve dreamed of sharing my good days and my bad with you.

I’ve turned down every woman who wasn’t you because none of them made me feel like I was coming home. ”

“You’ve got the biggest tournament of your career this week,” I stammer. “You don’t need distractions—”

“You’re not a distraction.” He erases the distance between us. “I promise.”

I stare at him, this force of nature who’s swept in and is, once again, declaring feelings with such utter conviction I can’t even begin to relate.

“Hays…”

“I love you.” The words hang in the air between us, raw and honest and terrifying.

“I loved you that first night when you called me on my bullshit and paid for your own drinks. I loved you when you made me wait, when you challenged me to be better. I love the way you write, the way you think, the way you see right through me and somehow, still want to be here. At least, I hope you haven’t changed your mind. ”

My hands shake as I death grip the display table. Things like this don’t happen in real life.

His chin drops. “But I understand, if you need some time. You’re logical and rational and—”

“Not crazy.”

He chuckles, warmth filling those sea-glass green-blue eyes as he looks at me through long, thick lashes. “I prefer decisive. But,” he adds, “I’m happy to prove to you we’re perfect together. Just give me a chance.”

“How?”

“Spend time with me this week. Find out what you and I are when we’re not separated by three thousand miles and a no-contact condition.”

The reasonable part of my brain screams warnings about paparazzi and media attention and the chaos that follows professional athletes. Let alone the fact he should be focusing on the tournament of his life.

But the hope and determination written across his features win me over. That and the throbbing ache between my legs. “Okay,” I breathe. “A week.”

A brilliant smile transforms his face. “You won’t regret it, sweetheart.”

Before I can process what’s happening, he’s cupping my face in his hands and kissing me as if he’s drowning and I’m oxygen. His lips are soft and demanding and exactly as I remember.

I melt into him as the kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for him with a soft gasp. My hands fist in his polo, pulling him closer until his heartbeat pounds against my palms.

It’s a kiss that sets my body on fire. Until the bell above the door chimes, and the intimate bubble around us bursts. A family of four comes in, mid-conversation, chattering loudly until the father pulls up short as his eyes widen in recognition.

“Holy shit, that’s Hays Granger!” he whisper-yells to his wife, who immediately starts digging through her purse.

My stomach drops as I realize what I’ve just signed up for.

The attention, the scrutiny, the complete loss of privacy that comes with being connected to someone in the spotlight.

All while I’m supposed to be getting to know the man I’ve agreed to marry.

I take a step back, but Hays reaches for my hand and threads our fingers together.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice steady and reassuring. “Always.”