Page 11

Sunday Dinner

Mallory

“ W here were you?“ Vivian is steaming mad when we get out of the car at Holland’s parents’ house. House isn’t exactly the right word for the stunning mansion in front of me. It’s a gorgeous, sprawling two-story colonial, and the yard is pristinely kept.

I stand still next to the passenger side of the Corvette, waiting to be hooked up to the mic pack again, and Holland joins me.

He insisted on me pulling over when we were two blocks away so he could get back behind the wheel.

I thought it was a macho thing, but now that he’s standing with his shoulders squared, taking the brunt of Vivian’s tongue lashing about us being late and taking advantage of time that wasn’t ours to take advantage of when contractually we’re obligated to have our interactions filmed, I’m not so sure.

He shoots me a wink, and it’s like he somehow knows what I’m thinking…that I’m giving him some mental credit. It’s unnerving.

Vivian points between us. “See? See! This is what I mean! How do I know you didn’t take her to some place in town and have a great heart to heart and get to know each other all off camera. For crying out loud, you could have had your first kiss, and I wouldn’t know about it! This is unacceptable!”

If Vivian was the type of woman to stomp her foot, I imagine she’d be doing that right now, but she doesn’t.

She leans in and pins both Holland and me with a terrifying look.

“I’m watching you both. You’re already getting liberties most contestants don’t.

” This, she directs to me. “Don’t make me regret that. ”

I nod, and Holland says, “I told you. I’m a bad stick-shift driver. It took me a while to get the hang of it. Nothing happened.”

“Of course not,” I say it like it’s a foregone conclusion…because it is.

My gaze sweeps over Holland’s childhood home.

Our upbringings could not have been more different if this is where he spent his youth.

My parents were middle class, but we didn’t have much extra.

We lived in a super-modest two-bedroom house in Florida, and when Hurricane Earl swept in when I was ten, and insurance didn’t cover all the damage, we took on some credit card debt that my parents paid off for the next ten years, and it’s sort of been one thing after another.

I know I had it a lot better than many kids, but judging from the outside of this home, Holland had it better. Much better.

I catch sight of several heads peeking out from behind the curtains on the front windows and shoot a side-eyed glance to Holland and then back to the house.

He tracks my line of sight. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”

“We’ll have you get into position. We’ve got cameras set up and ready to go inside, so we’ll film your entrance, then we’re going to get footage of the evening as it progresses organically. We’ll pull you both aside occasionally to do individual interviews, but otherwise, forget we’re here.”

I keep my face impassive, but I want to roll my eyes. It’s impossible to ignore the giant cameras and their operators bouncing around like badly disguised chameleons.

“And rolling!”

Holland looks at me. “You ready to do this?”

“Ready or not.” I force a smile.

He ushers me to the front door, and I suck in a breath when I feel his warm palm at the small of my back. I can’t say anything, or it’ll be memorialized on television, and I certainly don’t want that .

He chuckles softly behind me, and I slow down so I can accidentally step on his toe. He grunts, and I smirk.

“Sunday dinner is the best. It’s usually my family and—“

The front door of Holland’s childhood home swings open to reveal a tunnel of people waiting for us.

Holland sighs. “Half the town.”

I look back at him, my carefully constructed facade slipping. There are a lot of people here. Holland gives my back a subtle squeeze, like he can sense my nerves and he’s trying to reassure me without words. I should hate it, but I’m grateful for the solidarity.

“Mallory, this is everyone. Everyone, Mallory.” He shoves me forward into the tunnel, and I’m immediately being hugged.

“Mallory, welcome! Hello! We are so glad you’re here!“ I relax when I recognize Holland’s mom, Darla. I’ve met her a couple times at Holland’s tournaments. “You remember my husband, Drew.”

“Of course.” I reach out and shake his hand.

“Glad to see you, Mallory.”

“You too.”

Holland’s mom takes on the role of hostess like a professional. “This is Mack, Holland’s older brother, and his wife, Poppy.”

A tall, serious-looking guy with dark features nods at me and gives me a small smile. The brunette next to him launches herself at me and wraps me in a hug. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she whispers into my hair. “I had a feeling about you and Holland!”

“Oh, n—“ I stop myself from correcting her. “Nice,” I amend with a forced smile.

“Alright, everyone. Let the lady breathe.” Holland appears behind me. He shakes his brother’s hand and gives Poppy a kiss on the cheek.

Poppy steps back from us and motions to the people standing farther into the house. “This is my sister, Magnolia, and her husband, Collin. And you may already know Rose and Anton. ”

I nod. “I recognize you from the last tournament.”

I try my best to keep my cool, but Anton Bates is a prince and a Super Bowl champion. He seems perfectly down to earth when he shakes my hand and smiles warmly, but still.

Holland runs through a bunch more introductions.

There’s a slew of Mack’s employees. He’s an electrician with a team of people working for him, apparently.

I also meet Willow, the town librarian and her husband, as well as Mia, the owner of Mood Reader, the local bookstore.

All the names and faces are a blur by the time we make it to the backyard.

The Bradleys have the deck outfitted with string lights that cast a glow on the yard in the early evening. There’s a table spread with an assortment of food, and Poppy and her sisters are piling plates high with fruits and veggies and chips and dips.

“Want any?” Poppy holds up a plate in my direction. “I’ve heard they don’t let you eat on these shows, but that’s not going to fly here with Darla—or with any of us. We’re big eaters.”

I glance beyond the camera to Cece, my producer, and she shrugs, so I turn back to Poppy. “I could eat.”

“Attagirl.” Poppy motions me over, and I join her and Rose and Magnolia, who tells me to call her Noli, around the snack table.

A breeze kicks up, stirring the bud-speckled branches of the old trees in the backyard.

Goosebumps pop up on my arms. I wish I’d remembered a jacket.

I hate being cold, and it’s going to be a long night if we’re outside for the most part.

Poppy starts chattering about the weather and the different things that I have to see while I’m in Cashmere Cove.

Rose clears her throat, and I think she’s reaching for a ham-and-cheese slider, but then I realize she’s pointing at a notecard that’s been strategically placed behind a bowl of chips.

I squint and read the words, We can’t wait to get to know you for real…off camera!!! Hang around after filming?

Poppy keeps rambling on, but she crinkles her eyes a little at me, and I give her a subtle nod in acknowledgement.

I have no idea why these women want to get to know me, but if I’m going to be hanging around Cashmere Cove—in the capacity of Holland’s coach—for the next month or two, it might be nice to have some friends.

There’s something about these three that make me feel comfortable.

I’d like to talk to them too. If for no other reason than to get some dirt on Holland.

Not sure how we’ll pull off getting out from under the watchful eye of Vivian, but I’ve done it once before with the help of the Corvette, so maybe?

A glass clinks behind us, and Holland’s dad summons us all to join him around the table.

“A toast to Holland and Mallory.”

Holland appears at my side and loops his arm around my shoulder.

I stiffen but force myself not to scowl.

I refuse to draw unnecessary attention in front of the camera, but I’m afraid I’m doing this all wrong because I’m pretty sure I look constipated right now.

Holland is holding in his laughter, and I can tell from the way his arm jiggles ever so slightly along my upper back that he thinks it’s hilarious that we’re acting like a couple.

I lean into him, and he sucks in a surprised breath.

I press my lips together to cover my smile.

Two can play at this touchy-feely game, and if I can soak up some of his body heat in the process, all the better.

“Holland, we’re so proud of you, and we can’t wait to see where this journey takes you,” his dad begins, forcing me to focus.

“Thanks, Dad.” Holland stands a little straighter next to me.

“And Mallory, here’s to you and getting to know you in a new way. We’re thrilled to welcome you to our home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“To family and home.” Drew raises his glass.

“Cheers!”

“Everyone, you know the drill.” Darla claps her hands. “No one leaves hungry! Whatever you see, there’s more of it, so eat up!”

Holland’s producer, Hazel, sweeps him away to do a one-on-one sit-down interview while I make small talk with the crowd.

“Now, Mallory dear. Are you a big reader?” the older lady with the silvery hair asks me. Willow, if I’m remembering correctly. The librarian.

“I try to be,” I say.

“Holland loves to read,” she tells me. “Used to come in to see me at the library all the time. He liked the Goosebumps books.“ She smiles and glances fondly to where Holland is off in the side yard with a cameraman standing a foot in front of him.

“If you can get away from all the hoopla of this”—Rose appears at my side and points to the production crew—“I lead a romance book club every month at Mood Reader. Mia and Willow come, and so do my sisters. Anton’s been known to join us too.

” Her gaze settles on her boyfriend, and he glances up from his conversation with Mack and winks at her.

Rose sighs happily and turns back to me. “You should join us. Bring Holland. Could be a good bonding experience.”

“Oh, yes.” Willow shimmies her shoulders. “We have the most titillating discussions.”

I arch my eyebrows.

“It’s harmless. I promise,” Rose says, chuckling. “We have fun.”

“You think Holland is into romance novels?” I ask the pair of them, mostly joking, because I can’t picture him as a reader.

Willow leans in. “You didn’t hear this from me, but he read the entire Anne of Green Gables series in high school. The boy has good taste,“ she adds standing up straighter.

Rose nods solemnly. “Gilbert Blythe is the standard.”

I can tell my eyes are wider than they usually are. I’m trying to picture Holland reading the coming-of-age stories, and I…can’t. I look over at him at the same time he’s looking at me. He makes a face and sticks his tongue out to the side, and I roll my eyes and laugh .

“Maybe Holland was taking notes,” Willow says. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, dear?” She bats her eyelashes. “You make such a nice couple.”

My cheeks flame. “Oh, I don’t—“

“You really do, and now I’m totally feeling inspired,” Rose cuts in. “I’m going to propose we read Anne of Green Gables next month. You can join us for the discussion. Both of you!”

“I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have, actually,” I hedge.

Also, the thought of Holland taking notes on Gilbert Blythe is wiggling its way in my brain, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. There’s subtext here, but I don’t have time to figure it out right now.

“Thanks for the invite, though,” I add because I like Willow and Rose, and I don’t want them to feel like I’m brushing them off. Under different circumstances, I’d love to come to a romance book club. I excuse myself to use the bathroom.

Darla directs me inside and through the kitchen.

I take my time in the hallway, stopping to peek at the family photos that line the walls.

The Bradleys look like a close-knit group.

There are photos of Holland and Mack as kids and pictures of the four of them at the River Foxes Stadium in Green Bay.

There’s a more recent shot of Mack and Poppy in their wedding day finest and one of Darla, Drew, and Holland after the Grand Masters win last year.

I squint at it and see that I’m in the background, looking on.

I’m not smiling or frowning. I’m wearing my sunglasses and have my usual even-keeled mask on.

Holland invited me to be in this photo. I remember the moment now.

I told him absolutely not. When he pressed me on it and started trying to rile me up, I shot back that I was his coach, not his arm candy.

He had rolled his eyes and told me I was a huge part of the win and that he wanted to document the moment, but I shut him down again and sent him off to find his family.

Looking back at it, I probably came across as harsh and unfeeling.

It was a photo. I could have posed with Holland, and it wouldn’t have mattered much.

Why am I even thinking about this at all right now?

It’s in the past. There’s a good reason for my actions.

I have no desire to get close to another man who holds the keys to my paycheck—my family’s livelihood—only for him to turn on me.

I’m not saying Holland would do that, but it’s happened before, and I will always guard against it happening again.

So why is the sight of myself off to the side of this photo, not in the mix of it all, stirring up a hint of regret in the back of my throat? I didn’t actually miss out. I made the choice to not engage. Those are two different things.

I turn to make my way to the bathroom, but the sound of voices in a nearby room has me pulling up short.