Page 22

One-Bedroom Apartment

Mallory

I turn slowly in my chair, bowl still at my lips.

Holland steps inside. His face is drawn, but his eyes light up when they land on me.

“You’re up! How’re you feeling?”

I swallow the soup and set the bowl down. It clatters on the granite countertop. I use the back of my hand to wipe at a dribble of broth that escaped my lips. Dang it. I am such a mess.

“Good. Fine.” I hop off the barstool. “Practically good as new. I, um…was going to get going.”

Holland closes the door behind him and drops his keys onto a hook that hangs on the nearby wall. “You can’t.”

I pause and cross my arms. “What do you mean, I can’t? I’ve got to get back to Daisy’s.”

He shakes his head. “I told production you were asleep in your room. That you’d come down with a nasty virus and no one should bother you until at least tomorrow morning. If you go back there tonight, your cover will be blown.”

My stomach sinks. “So what?”

“You can hang out here tonight. We’ll sneak you back in to Daisy’s early tomorrow morning, and it’ll be like you were there the whole time.”

I blow out a breath. This is kind of the worst, but what else can I do?

If Vivian knew I was ensconced at Holland’s apartment this entire day, we’d both be in breach of our contract.

All of our time together is supposed to be filmed.

The only exception is our golf practices.

I catch sight of my reflection in Holland’s microwave and cringe.

There’s a line of dried drool from the corner of my lip down to my chin.

“I hate to impose on you,” I admit. “You’ve already gone out of your way enough. This is totally unprofessional of me.”

“You’re fine.” Holland toes off his shoes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You seemed pretty miserable.”

I nod, and then I gasp. “What if I get you sick? The Grand Masters are less than a week away. You can’t afford to—“

Holland steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders. They’re warm and firm, and I immediately shut up.

“Relax, Mal. There’s nothing we can do about it, and I’m not worried. I have a ridiculously good immune system.” He shoots me a grin before moving around me and into his kitchen.

I can’t help it. I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. Why am I not surprised?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that everything is always nice and perfect for you. It makes sense you’d be the type of person who never gets sick.”

“Are you seriously going to hold my immune system against me?” Holland arches an eyebrow and pins me with an appraising look. “It’s not like I can control it.”

I sigh and run my hands over my hair. I’m being petty, and I know it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m grumpy.”

He smiles. “You’re forgiven.” His smile falters. “For the record, everything isn’t always nice and perfect for me.”

I take my seat back on the barstool. “What do you mean? Seems like life has treated you pretty well.”

Holland sets a bowl of soup down in front of himself and fiddles with his spoon for a second before meeting my eye. “That’s what everyone thinks. That’s what I’ve led everyone to believe.”

He pauses, and I prod, “But? ”

“But I have my fair share of crap to deal with, like everyone else.” He shoves a spoonful of soup into his mouth and breaks eye contact.

I want to ask him what he’s talking about, but I check myself. It’s better if I don’t know. It’s better if I can keep him in the little box I have set aside for him. The one that’s marked on the outside with the words: professional golfer – cocky – golden boy.

I stand and wander around his living room, merely to give myself something to do. Not because I’m relishing the opportunity to get a peek behind Holland’s curtains. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

His second-story apartment is homey and more modest than I would have expected. I pictured ultra-modern and sleek. I would have bet money that he would have been in new construction and that he would have required at least two thousand square feet.

I was wrong, and I don’t want to admit that I’m finding a soft, pleasant sort of peace slip over me here in Holland’s simple, cozy space.

His living room is cramped with an oversized sofa, one lounge chair, and a coffee table.

There are built in bookshelves on either side of a TV that hangs in the center of the wall.

He’s got books lined up on some of the shelves, a smattering of golf trophies wedged here and there, and a couple framed photos.

I spy the same image of Holland with his parents at the Grand Masters that Darla and Drew had in their hallway.

There I am, off to the side, looking on.

Regret and acceptance jockey for position in my stomach, and I try to ignore them both—or at least not overanalyze what they’re doing there—by squinting at another photo.

It features two young boys hanging out the windows of a giant tree house. “Is this you? And Mack?”

Holland joins me in the living room, soup bowl in hand. “Yep. We were preteens there.”

“Nice tree fort.”

Holland stares at the picture. “It was the best.” A faint smile tips the corners of his mouth up.

“Mack pranked me so hard one night. I had been teasing him about this girl he liked, being a classic little brother, right? He’d brought her up to the tree house, and I totally crashed their little make-out session. He was ticked.”

“Rightly so! Sounds like you were a little punk.”

He shrugs. “That’s what brothers are for. And anyway, he got me back good.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Sounds like a story I’d like to hear.”

Holland shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “The next week, I was out there alone, and Mack snuck up on me and released four birds into the tree fort. He barricaded the door, and—“

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt him. “Clarifying question. Where did Mack get the birds?”

“He lured them into a cage in our backyard and trapped them. All part of his master plan.”

I twist my lips together as the picture of these two brothers forms in my mind.

“Laugh all you want”—Holland points at me—“but those birds freaked me out. I panicked. They were flying around, tweeting and trying to escape. They started divebombing me with those unfocused eyes. When the door wouldn’t budge against Mack’s barricade, I did the only thing I could think of.”

“Which was?”

“I started prying boards off the roof and punched through the shingles.”

“To let the birds out?”

“Heck no.” Holland huffs. “To let myself out! I hopped down from the roof so fast my pants got caught on one of the tree limbs and ripped clear down the back. I ran straight home, down our street, in just my underwear.”

I have my hand clamped over my mouth, and my eyes sting from trying to hold in my laughter.

“It’s actually hilarious now,” Holland admits, taking in my shaking shoulders and letting loose a wry grin. “But I was so mad at him.”

“Your parents must’ve had their hands full with you two.”

“You could say that.” Holland smiles, but his forehead is creased, like he’s thinking hard.

“Did you and Mack recover your relationship after the tree fort incident?” I ask. It’s a totally leading question, because I partially know the brothers’ relationship has been strained, at least based on what Poppy told me. I shouldn’t be prying, but I can’t help it. I want to know.

“Actually, we sort of grew apart…for a bunch of reasons.” Holland sighs. “Some were my fault. Some were his. The birds were the least of them,” he adds ruefully. I stay quiet, letting him process his thoughts. “I think we both felt misunderstood, and that caused this canyon to open up between us.”

I want to ask why. I want him to tell me what those reasons are, but I clamp my tongue between my teeth. I’ve already taken this too far. I shouldn’t be so curious about Holland. I shouldn’t want to know.

“Anyway. I’m working on it with him,” Holland says. “I’m grateful he’s giving me a chance, and it’s been good.”

“That’s good.” I switch lanes. “How was your date?”

Better to keep focused on the reason we’re both here.

Holland plops down on the couch, setting his soup bowl on an end table. “I sent Belle home.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Vivian was ticked.”

I chew on that for a moment. “Because she liked Belle or…?”

“Because I’m eliminating too many people, too quickly,” Holland says with another sigh.

“She told me I’m not going to have any candidates left at this rate.

But I can’t help it.” He leans back into the couch.

“Belle was nice. I mean, her over-the-top obsession with Beauty and the Beast was a little much, but I could have looked past that if we had connected on a different level. But I wasn’t into her.

Stringing her along when I knew that…it didn’t sit right with me. I’m not here to waste anyone’s time.”

“I’m sure Belle appreciated that. ”

“I hope so. I keep feeling like I’m making a mess of all of this.” He looks over at me, his gaze earnest and raw. “I want to find someone.”

“What about the other women?” I reach up and mess with my hair, regathering it into a top knot. I plop down on his couch. “You don’t feel like there’s anyone left here who has potential for you?”

Holland stares at me for a long beat before blinking and looking at the ground. “I…I’m not sure.” He sits on the opposite side of the couch and looks toward the bookshelves. “I think maybe? But I don’t know. This entire thing is not going how I planned it out.”

Something tugs on my heart, and sympathy ripples down my spine. I know what it feels like to want to be in control and have that stolen away. It’s awful.