Page 27

Garden Intervention

Mallory

A fter filming three takes of the announcement about the Grand Masters trip—each one growing cringier and cringier, in my not-asked-for opinion—Vivian and Callen gave us the go-ahead to go back to our rooms. I don’t know where Holland went.

Off to do Holland things, I’m sure. I don’t need to know.

I don’t care to know, thank you very much.

What I do care about is getting rid of the zinging feeling in my pinky finger. What the heck was that in there? Why was my body going all haywire at the mere brush of a phalange? It’s not right.

I need some air.

I need to clear my head.

I need to put Holland out of my head.

I leave through the front door of Daisy’s Inn and walk down the steps, along the cobblestone path, and to the side yard, where Daisy’s flower garden is bursting with a rainbow of tulips. I roll my shoulders a couple times as I wander along the path, taking a few deep breaths for good measure.

“You’re okay. Everything’s fine,” I mumble the words to myself. My own personal anthem. “Do the next thing right.”

The next thing for me is the Grand Masters. I need to think about Holland solely in terms of my golfer for the upcoming week. Game face on. Competitive edge, locked and loaded. Emotions shut down and stored away. I can do that. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s been working for me .

But my mind flashes back to Pinkygate . And before that, to the way Holland placed those pills on my tongue with such gentleness it makes me feel a little melty.

Daisy has a stone fountain in the corner of her garden. It’s a little cherub angel perched on the corner of a basin with water pouring out of her hands. I stare at the stone angel for a second, and it stares vacantly back at me.

“It was nothing. None of it meant anything,” I tell the statue.

“Who you trying to convince, young lady?”

I whirl around to find Candace Patchcab sitting on the bench on the other side of the garden.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

Candace sticks up her nose and makes a grunting sound.

“I’ll leave you alone.” I spin on my heel to make a hasty retreat, embarrassment at being caught talking to myself rolling off my back in waves.

“Not so fast,” Candace snaps, and I freeze, turning slowly to look at her. She pats the bench. “Come, sit a spell.”

Here’s the thing. I know I don’t have to do what she’s telling me to do. I could make an excuse, or I could leave. But there’s something about this woman. A sternness to her. I don’t dare cross her. I don’t want to get on her bad side.

And yeah, okay. Fine. I know I said I would lock down any and all emotions about Holland that weren’t related to golf for the next week, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about his relationship with this sourpuss older lady.

What gives with them? The golden boy golfer and the spinster? Something isn’t adding up.

“Hurry up. I don’t have all day,” Candace snaps, and my feet propel me forward.

I take a seat on the stone bench, leaving a foot of space between the two of us.

“Now.” She folds her hands primly in her lap.

She’s wearing a worn pair of baby-blue slacks and a knit sweater with a pale- orange-and-white color-blocked pattern.

Her gray hair is cut in a short bob. It’s stick straight and tucked neatly behind her ears.

She doesn’t smile at me. She glares down her nose.

“Now,” she says again. “You’re going to tell me what your intentions are with Holland. ”

I angle my body so I’m facing her. “My intentions?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I…I don’t have any intentions with Holland.”

Don’t you?

I don’t. That’s what I tell the voice in my head. At least…I don’t think I do. I didn’t. But then he took care of me. And he left me that note. And then there was the pinky tangling. My inner thoughts are a jumbled, tangled mess. It’s like a badly kept strand of Christmas tree lights up in here.

“That’s a lie,” Candace says flatly. “I saw you.”

“You…saw me?” I arch a brow.

“Both of you. Together. This morning.” Her scowl deepens. “In his car,” she adds. “In a compromising position.”

I hold up my hands, more defensive than the Chicago Bears in the Ditka era. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”

Also, crap. If Candace saw us, who else did? None of the producers said anything, but that doesn’t mean word isn’t spreading around town about Holland and me spending the night together. Not together, together. Obviously.

“Not what it looked like?” Candace sniffs. “It looked like you were canoodling.”

I shake my head. “I promise you we weren’t.”

“I know what I saw,” she says staunchly. “You were sitting in that boy’s lap.” She smacks the last syllable of the word so it makes a popping sound, and I flinch. She leans in and points her finger at my chest. “And there was staring involved.”

I shift on this uncomfortable bench. So much for my fresh air. The oxygen around me is being stolen by this crotchety old lady.

“Staring?” I say weakly .

“Meaningful staring,” she accuses. “Looking into each other’s eyes and seeing into the depths of each other’s souls!”

Oh, for crying out loud.

“You got all that from watching us in Holland’s car this morning?” I’m still playing defense here. I can’t help it. At the same time, I can’t help the way my heart starts beating because she’s totally calling me out on feelings I was trying to ignore.

There was soul staring.

I was trying to convince myself I was imagining it, but now I have proof by way of Candace Patchcab.

She taps the side of her nose. “I’m very astute. Don’t like to be told otherwise. And”—she points at me again—“I won’t be lied to. You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

She arches her brows and waits on me to dispute her.

But Candace isn’t wrong. I felt something new for Holland in the car this morning.

I told myself it was nothing. I told myself it was the hangover from last night.

But when he looked at me and I looked at him, something zippered through me, and it felt a lot like desire.

Like interest. Like I wanted to talk more about our families and his roofless tree fort.

Like I wanted to open up to him about my past and my dreams for the future.

Like I wanted to lean forward and brush my lips across his.

I clear my throat because I need to keep my thoughts from diving into desiring Holland. “I’m Holland’s golf coach.”

“I know that. Do you intend to pursue something more with him?”

“I—“ I cut myself off.

Two weeks ago, I would have been able to easily say, no way . But now? Now, I’m not so sure.

“I don’t know,” I admit out loud.

She harrumphs. We sit in silence for a minute, and then she sighs. “I’m going to tell you this because I know Holland cares for you.”

I cut a look in her direction. “How do you know that? ”

She waves me off, like it’s obvious, and I bite the inside of my cheek in frustration, but then I check myself. When I stop to think about it, I can see the way Holland has been caring for me since this whole thing started.

“I also know that that boy is loyal, and when he gets attached, he gets really attached,“ she goes on. “I don’t want to see you trifling with him. I see how he looks at you.”

“Are you sure the windshield wasn’t distorting your vision?” I ask and then immediately dip my chin, chastened, when she glowers at me.

“I also watched you and him near the rose bushes the other day. I saw the way he was looking at you there.” She arches her brows.

“Longingly. That’s what I saw. He’s got feelings for you, and I don’t want to see him hurt, so I’m asking you.

No”—she sits up straighter—“I’m telling you not to mess with that man’s heart.

He deserves someone who will return his loyalty. ”

I stare straight ahead, and I feel Candace’s gaze on my cheek. My parents didn’t raise me to be disrespectful, so I drag my gaze over to meet hers.

“You’re a good friend to him.”

I surprise her with this comment. She sucks in a short breath. “I wouldn’t call us friends, but we’ve been through a lot together. I’ve known him for a long time.”

“How so?” I ask quietly.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “That’s not my story to tell. Ask Holland about me sometime. He’ll tell you if he wants to.”

She pushes herself off the bench and stands still for a moment, like she’s getting her bearings. Then she turns to me. “Don’t be reckless with him. He likes people to see him a certain way, but underneath is a tender heart that I don’t want anyone to trample on.”

I open my mouth to defend myself, but she’s already walking away .

“Good luck at the Grand Masters,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be watching.”

A layer of goosebumps pops up along my flesh.

Candace doesn’t look back at me again. I track her until she disappears into her house, and then I close my eyes.

I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’m more wound up now than I was when I stepped out the front door.

I play back everything Candace said, and I’m most struck by her final words.

Holland shows people what he wants them to see, but underneath he’s got a tender heart.

I don’t want to believe that. It was easier to keep things separate—professional apart from personal—when I considered him a cocky, self-centered jerk.

But now?

Now I think I know better.

When you know better, you do better.

When you know better, things change. I need to figure out what I want that to look like for me…and for my relationship with Holland.