Page 10

Meet the Fam

Holland

I ’m trying to act like I’m not freaking out to be leading Mallory outside Daisy’s Inn on our way to a legitimate date…in front of my entire family at Sunday dinner. But I don’t know if I’m pulling it off.

Mallory stops short on the walkway to the road, and I stumble into her back. She grunts. I reach out a hand to her waist to settle myself, and she glares back at me. I pull it away. “Sorry.”

“Whose car is that?”

I steady myself and stick my hands in my pockets, grinning. “Mine. For today,” I add.

MEM outfitted me with a sweet, bright-red 1968 Chevy Corvette. It’s a convertible with a top that we currently have up because April in Wisconsin looks pretty, but the chill in the air doesn’t mess around.

“Come on.” I put my hand on Mallory’s back, risking her ire, to guide her toward the passenger side of our ride.

She doesn’t say anything, but she’s working her jaw, and I know I’m breaking her no-touching rule, but I don’t care. Having her here, with me, and knowing that I’m getting under her skin is already making me feel better in a weird, roundabout way.

I open the door for her, and she slides inside.

I walk to the other side and slip into the driver’s seat. One of the production minions comes up and takes our microphone pacs after we get settled.

“We’ll hook these back up as soon as we get to the Bradleys’ house,” Vivian informs us. “For now, we’re going to get some footage of Holland driving away, and then we’ll take some shots of Main Street and the downtown area. We’ll meet you over there.”

“Sounds good.” I flick my gaze to Mallory. “You ready to do this?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that, but what choice do I have?”

“That’s the spirit!” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes.

Production had the car running, so I ease it away from the curb.

Ease is an exaggeration. This thing has a manual transmission, so the car does a bit of a lurch.

Mallory curses and looks to the retractable ceiling. “Is there an ‘oh crap’ bar in here?”

“Relax,” I chuckle. “I’ll get you to our date in one piece. I know you’re anxious to get the process of falling madly in love with me started.”

“I’m mostly anxious about dying at this point,” Mallory says between clenched teeth as I shift gears, and we jolt forward again.

“And you.” She turns her head to look at me, and I see her glower in my periphery.

“You should be worried about me killing you. What the heck was that hand-on-the-back business back there?”

“Oh, come on. I have to make it look like I’m into you.”

“That’s not what we agreed to. And why am I still here? I thought you were going to send me home night one?”

“That would have probably made my life easier, wouldn’t it have?”

“You think?”

I huff out a laugh. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice to have an ally on the front lines.”

“And I’m your ally, Bradley?”

“Aren’t you?” I challenge. “You’re my coach. You have my back. Clearly, I was…rattled on night one.” The burn of shame floods my cheeks, but I clear my throat and plow forward. “Thanks, by the way, for talking me through it.”

I want to forget the whole situation happened, and I’m hoping Mallory does too, because it’s making my skin itch to remember how vulnerable I was, and how she saw it. But I need to acknowledge what happened, and this is my chance without the cameras and the microphones.

“It won’t happen again.” I glance to my right when I feel her gaze on my cheek.

“It’s okay. It was actually kind of…nice.”

“You think me having a panic attack was nice? Gee, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head and then shifts her jaw before continuing. “I just… I never see you without your flashy face on.”

“My flashy face? What are you talking about?”

“You know.” She moves her hand around in a circle in my general direction. “You’re always so jokes-y and confident and suave.”

“You think I’m suave?”

She punches me in the shoulder.

I smirk.

“Forget it. I…you…well, you felt more real in the pantry, that’s all.”

A pang of something ping-pongs around my ribcage.

I’ve spent twenty years trying to make sure I don’t show that weaker side of myself to the outside world.

I sure as heck don’t want to reveal it to my coach or anyone in my professional sphere.

But…Mallory saw it. There’s nothing I can do about that now. And…what?

I glance at her. She’s staring back, her green eyes clear and direct.

She’s doesn’t have the look of someone who’s going to lord it over me.

She looks…kind. Softer than I’m used to seeing her.

She’s so stunning that when I let myself consider it, my mouth goes dry and my hands start sweating.

And that pang in my chest? It intensifies in a way that makes me suck in a hard breath.

That’s why I need to keep in mind that she’s my coach, and that’s all she’s ever going to be.

I need her to keep coaching me, and I don’t know how to handle this sort of considerate attention from her without melting into a useless mush puddle.

I’m used to our banter. I need to get us back there, because vulnerability is not on the menu with this woman.

“Well, anyway.” I have to work to keep my voice light, given the emotions that are laying siege against my insides. “Consider the bouquet handout on night one your thank you from me.”

“Wait.” She narrows her gaze. “You think stringing me along on a dating show is a good way to show your gratitude?”

“Obviously. Look at all the perks!”

“You’re delusional.” She makes a show of glancing around. “I see no perks. Being mic’d up and on camera is my worst nightmare.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad. I thought you’d like it.”

“I will totally be making you pay for this at practice.”

“I love it when you make me pay.” I grin, and she rolls her eyes. This is good. This is a normal Holland-Mallory exchange. “Besides, don’t act like Daisy’s isn’t amazing.”

She sits back in her seat and bites her lip.

“See? I’m right, aren’t I? If you weren’t on the show, you’d be staying in some non-descript, boring hotel. Now, you get to enjoy the charm of Cashmere Cove from the inside.”

“Whatever. Do your best not to touch me any more, alright?”

“No can do. We’re back to square one here. I have to at least pretend that I’m into you. And I’m a touchy-feely kind of guy when I’m into a woman.”

“Gag me.” Mallory pretends to wretch.

I laugh. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

I come to a stop at the top of the hill that leads to the oldest neighborhoods in Cashmere Cove. I have to let some pedestrians cross, and when I try to drive forward, I kill the engine.

“Whoops.” I start the car and try again. We lurch forward and then slide back.

Mallory takes a deep breath and rubs the back of her head where it rammed into the headrest when the car stalled .

“Bradley.” She’s using her coach voice now, the same one that got me out of my funk in the pantry at the mansion. “Use the emergency brake.”

I immediately comply. It’s a reflex at this point. “Now what?

She unbuckles her seatbelt. “Now you’re going to let me drive.”

She’s walking around the hood of the car before I can argue. She opens my door and taps her foot.

“I can drive,” I protest.

She glances at the hill behind us and back at me, arching both eyebrows. “I don’t think you can, actually.”

I scowl at her. “Fine. But only because I’m a gentleman, and you clearly want a turn behind the wheel.”

I unhook my seatbelt, and we trade spots. Mallory settles in, and I take her abandoned passenger seat.

“Oh, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” she purrs to the car, running her hands over the steering wheel.

“What do I have to do to get you to talk to me like that?”

“That’ll never happen.” She expertly disengages the parking brake and eases us over the hill on the first try. She aims a cocky grin in my direction. “Don’t feel bad, Bradley. Some of us are better drivers than others.”

“I’m a great driver!”

“On the golf course? I’d give you a C+ there. On the road? An F-.”

“A C+?!”

She laughs, and the low, genuine sound of it does something weird to my heart, like it turned over itself with a forceful flip flop, and now the rhythm is slightly changed.

It stutters once more when Mal looks over at me with her green eyes wide and dancing. She bobs her head to the right. “Your parents’ house is that way, you said?”

I nod.

“But it looks like there’s open road that way?” She tips her chin to the left .

I nod again, and I know what she’s going to do before she does it.

She turns to the left, and I shake my head, but I’m not going to argue with her.

Sitting shotgun while Mallory takes control with a grin on her face isn’t the worst place to be.

In fact, now that I think about it, I feel more relaxed than I have since I sunk the putt to secure the win in South Carolina a week ago.

Ever since then, my world has been a whirlwind of contract negotiations, and production meetings, and wardrobe checks, and then came the women, and we all know how I handled them on night one.

Now, though, with Mallory, my chest is lighter, and I’m enjoying myself. It was a good call to keep her around.

After a couple minutes of Mallory handling the winding road in the Corvette like she was born behind the wheel, I reluctantly remind her that we’re going to be late.

“I know.” She shoots me a wicked grin and accelerates again. “We can blame it on your driving.”