Page 20

Chicken Soup for the Soul

Mallory

“ Y ou look awful, Mal.”

My mom leans a concerned face toward the camera, filling up my entire phone screen.

“I feel awful,” I admit. I slouch against the siding of the clubhouse. I’m waiting for Holland to get here so we can have our practice, but I honestly don’t know how I’m going to get through it.

The head cold that I felt coming on earlier this week seems to have burst forth and is waging war against me. I’m sure the dip in the stream at the mini-golf course yesterday didn’t help my cause.

I massage my temples because thinking about that is not helping me feel better. It was actually a fun date. The girls and I had a good time. Holland was remarkably normal and, dare I say, even pleasant to be around.

I dropped my guard. I’m not proud of it, but I did.

And the whole time, the cameras were rolling.

I shudder—literally—to think of how I’ll come across when that episode of Most Eligible Mister airs. Completely unprofessional, for starters.

“I wish you were here so I could take care of you.” My mom’s soothing voice draws my attention.

“I’ll be fine.” I muster up a smile. “I took some cold medicine this morning. I’m glad it’s this week and not next week. Gotta be ready to go for the Grand Masters. ”

My mom nods. “How’s Holland feeling about that?”

“Fine, I think. It’s hard to say. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

I like watching you have fun .

The tiny message he scribbled on my scorecard flies to my mind.

Even though he’s juggling dating seven women—well, six, because I can’t include myself in that number—and managing a demanding practice and golf schedule, he still took the time to do something personal…for me.

I don’t know what to make of that.

I also don’t know what to make of the relief I felt that the scorecard didn’t end up wet in the stream situation. Don’t tell anyone, but I didn’t recycle it when we got back to Daisy’s. I tucked it into the frame behind my family photo. I’m not entirely sure why.

“Promise you’ll take care of yourself. I don’t want you pushing too hard and making yourself worse.” My mom sounds stern.

“I promise if you promise.” I sneeze and pinch the bridge of my nose. Ugh . My head is like a bowling ball right now, and sneezing makes it ten times worse because it’s like my brain rattles around and sends zips of pain to every corner of my body in the process. “How’s the numbness today?”

I try to focus on my mom so I don’t think about my own misery. Besides, I have nothing to complain about in comparison. She’s been dealing with tingling and numbness in her legs the past week, so instead of using her walker, she’s been forced to use her wheelchair when she goes out. She hates that.

Still, the only sign I see of her struggle is a slight wrinkle across the middle of her forehead. “I’m managing. Dad and Jo are hovering like helicopters. I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but here we are. I’m trying to ride this spell out and hope it improves sooner rather than later.”

“I hope so too.”

My mom smiles at me, but it wobbles slightly.

“Hey. Are you really okay, Mom? Do you want me to come home?”

She waves me off. “Absolutely not. I’m fine . Sometimes it catches up with me. But I’m good. I promise.”

I study her, trying to focus in spite of the congestion that’s making it difficult for me to breathe. “You know it’s okay to admit that you’re not okay.”

“I know. I know. But I am okay.”

I twist my lips. “I believe you.” A car door slams, and I glance up to see Holland pocketing his key. He waves and starts walking in my direction. “I’ve got to go. Holland is here.”

“Oh!” My mom immediately brightens. Can I say hello?”

Usually, I’d say absolutely not. I’m already mixing enough of my personal life with my work life at the moment. But I can’t stand seeing her so dejected. If talking to Holland helps, then it’s the least I can do.

“Hey.” Holland makes it to my side.

I keep my phone facing me but look at him over the top of it. “I’m talking to my mom. She’s hoping to say hi. Is that okay?”

Holland’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens into a smile. It’s full and earnest. “Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”

I pivot so he and I are standing side by side.

He leans in, and even though my nose is all stuffed up, I catch a whiff of him.

He smells like elevated grass. It’s like a mixture of the scent of a golf course and fresh herbs.

It’s clean and distracting. I turn my attention to where my mom is peppering him with questions about the show, trying not to dwell on my proximity to Holland and how he’s affecting my senses.

“I can’t wait to watch you,” my mom says. “How’s it going? Is it working?”

Holland side-eyes me, and I can’t quite figure out what’s with his look.

It’s at once penetrating and pensive. I don’t have the brain power to anaylze it any more than that right now.

He looks back at my mom and shrugs. “Tough to say, at this point. All the women are very impressive. And beautiful.”

“And the dates? Are you doing fun things? I’m excited to get to see more of Cashmere Cove when the show comes on. Mal has been telling us about how gorgeous it is there.”

“It is. We’re doing a circuit of all the local landmarks. Did she tell you about mini-golfing yesterday?”

My mom scowls at me over the phone. “She did not.”

“We ended up taking a dip in the stream that runs through the course—unintentionally.”

“Mal!” my mom chides. “I’m sure that didn’t help your cold.”

Holland snaps his gaze to me. “You’re sick?”

I shake my head and then stop because oww . “I’m fine.”

“She feels like she got run over by a truck,” my mom supplies. “If she were here, I’d be tucking her into bed and making her some chicken noodle soup. It’s her comfort meal of choice.”

“Okay, Mom.” I swing the phone back so I’m in the frame alone. “We’re going to go. We have to get to practice.”

“Let me see Holland once more real quick.”

I angle the phone is his direction. “Wanted to tell you we’ll be rooting for you at the Grand Masters, Holland.” My mom beams. “We’re rooting for you to find love too!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Walsh.” Holland’s return smile is kind.

When I flip the phone back so I’m in the frame, I can’t even summon a smile. I do look terrible. My skin is grayish, and there are dark circles under my eyes. It’s a good thing I’m not trying to impress Holland, because I would be very self-conscious right now.

I squint my eyes, forcing myself to focus on my mom through the pounding in my head. “I’ll talk to you soon, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mal.”

I hang up and shove the phone in my pocket. “Thanks for humoring her. ”

“Anytime. She’s lovely.” Holland crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t look so good.”

He puts a hand out and presses it to my forehead. I’m so shocked at the gesture that it takes me a full five seconds before I have the wherewithal to swat it away.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re burning up.”

“I am not.” I feel my own forehead.

“You can’t check your own temperature like that. Totally inaccurate.”

“What do you know?”

In response, Holland grabs my hand and tugs me in the direction of the parking lot.

“Hey!” I pull back, but he’s not loosening his grip. “The golf course is that way. Where are you going?”

“I’m making the executive decision that we’re not practicing today.”

I quicken my pace to keep up with him. “I’m the coach here. That’s not your dec—“

He spins around, pulling my hand with him so that we’re face to face. He looks down at me, and his warm brown eyes are flashing, not in their usual teasing way, but with a hint of something that looks like concern. They dart back and forth over my face, as if checking me for an injury.

“I was here this morning, running through the mechanics work you assigned me. I got my reps in. I’m feeling good about where I’m at.

But I’m not going to be able to focus out there right now if I’m worried about you and how you’re feeling.

Since I’m the one paying you, as you so often remind me, it’s my call today. And I say no practice.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he places a finger over my lips.

“No practice,” he repeats. “You’re coming with me to my apartment. ”

He opens the passenger door to his car and loops an arm around my waist, angling me into the seat.

“Bradley, this isn’t necessary. I can—“

He shuts the door on my protests.

Rude.

I wait for him to get behind the wheel.

“I can go back to Daisy’s and rest there if we’re not going to practice.”

He shakes his head as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Nope. Who’ll make you chicken soup, then?”

I let my head fall back against the headrest. The cold medicine and the headache are making me feel like I’ve got an anvil for a brain. “This is exactly why I don’t mix my work and personal life.”

“Relax, Mallory. I’m not going to hold this against you. I want to help.”

I close my eyes. I’m so tired, and my head is so heavy.

I’m finding it harder and harder to argue with him, even though I have Aunt Jo’s voice in my head, telling me to be careful about letting Holland get too close.

He’s the source of my income. If things get messy, he could fire me, and then where would I be?

If I show any weakness, I’m terrified someone is going to swoop in and call into question how well I can do my job—or worse, replace me.

It happened before. Brevan didn’t want to deal with the mess I brought to his doorstep—even though it wasn’t my fault—and I paid the price. I got fired. I got dumped.

I remember it all too well. But right now, I’m a little delirious, and Holland smells good, and the thought of chicken noodle soup doesn’t sound so awful. In my current state, it might be worth risking my job.

That’s the fever talking—or the drugs. Whichever one, it’s got a really loud voice.

“Fine,” I grumble, keeping my eyes closed. “But just this once.” I sneeze and groan. “I’ll let you help me just this once.”

He chuckles softly. “Just this once.”