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Grip Practice

Mallory

T he morning after my one-on-one date with Holland at the Cherry Blossom Festival, I’m sitting in the foyer of the inn. I just saw Holland…as he got into an SUV with Mindy Sue, Ava, Britt, and Zelda. They’re off on their hiking group date.

I got to hug Holland before they left. We all did.

I hung back while the rest of the women greeted him with hugs.

I was hoping for some sort of wink or meaningful look when it came to be my turn.

But there was nothing extra for me. Nothing to signify that he enjoyed our time together yesterday as much as I did.

I’m panicking.

To make matters worse, Jennah is here too.

She’s perched on the edge of a chair, looking smug.

She gets the one-on-one date later tonight, and she and I just finished filming her opening the date card.

Holland is taking her to the lighthouse at the tip of Cashmere County.

Apparently, there are stunning views to be enjoyed.

I doubt they’re as good as the ones at Cherry Blossom Park, but whatever.

In my head, I am doing deep-breathing exercises.

Mental deep breathing. Is that a thing? I’m making it a thing, because I don’t want to think about Holland spending time with any of the rest of these women.

And I like these women. I’m a girl’s girl.

I’m not usually jealous. But I slept like crap last night because I got home after my date with Holland and I was wired.

I lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and regretted my decision not to let him kiss me .

What if he kisses someone else? What if he falls for one of these intelligent, fun, accomplished women? What if I missed my shot with him?

I suck in a breath, no longer doing exercises in my brain. My brain is a betrayer with all these what-ifs.

The producers are forcing girl talk between Jennah and me, where we speculate on what the other women are doing on their date and talk about Jennah’s upcoming date and how much we’re into Holland. Neither of us is into it.

“Someone needs to say something.” Vivian taps her foot with frustration. She’s standing behind the nearest camera, and she points back and forth between the two of us. “Talk about Holland. Come on. Mallory? Jennah? Someone, go.”

“I can’t wait to see Holland later.” Jennah shifts on the couch and sits up straighter, taking the bait. “He’s so hunky.”

Hunky? Who uses the word hunky these days?

“I’ve never seen him not looking good. It’s kind of crazy,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

This is what I was hoping to avoid. This conversation makes me want to poke my eyeballs with needles.

I try to give Jennah the benefit of the doubt.

It’s not fun to be forced to talk when you don’t want to talk.

But could we not come up with anything other than Holland’s looks?

He’s so much more than the handsome golfer.

“I mean, I guess so, yeah.” I shrug.

“You guess?” Jennah sticks up her nose at me. “You’ve spent the most time with him, and you’re telling me you don’t think he’s hot? What are you still doing here?”

There’s an intake of breath from someone off camera. I don’t glance over to see who it is, but I appreciate the show of loyalty.

I cross my arms, thinking over my words before I speak.

“I’m here for Holland,” I begin. “You’re right.

No one can say he isn’t hot.” I can’t believe I said that on camera, but whatever.

I’m in this thing now, so I take a deep breath, and I go on.

“ He’s also a good listener, and he’s attentive and thoughtful.

He’s the whole package. His actions and who he is as a person combine to make him even more attractive to me. ”

Jennah smirks. “I can’t wait to get in on the action and unwrap his whole package tonight.”

My jaw comes unhinged, and Jennah’s smirk grows.

“Alright, cut.” Vivian steps forward. “That’ll work. You ladies are free to go.”

Jennah hops off the couch and sashays to her room, leaving me with a terrible taste in my mouth. Is it too much to hope that Holland sends her home at the start of their date? I don’t like the thought of her spending time with him.

I give myself a mental shake. Holland is a grownup. He can handle himself, and he gets to make his own choices. It’s none of my business.

I head over to the inn’s coffee bar. I need the caffeine. Daisy is standing there, pocketing her phone as I come around the corner.

“Morning, Mallory. Or should I say, champ?” She winks at me. “From what I hear, those pies didn’t stand a chance with you in the contest yesterday.”

“I guess not.” I force a smile as I swallow down my frustration and my mounting panic.

I can’t stop replaying our date. Did I imagine the sparks? Am I falling for Holland now, and he’s having second thoughts about me? Did I go majorly public with that on-camera declaration about how he’s the whole package only to have him basically blow me off?

Daisy puts her hand on my arm, as if she can sense my struggle and knows I need a calming presence. “You okay, dear?”

I grab for one of the ceramic mugs and grip it tightly. “I’ll be fine. In my own head is all.”

She nods knowingly. “This is a mental game, isn’t it?”

I nod. “To put it mildly. ”

“Holland is fortunate to have you in his corner. What you said just now was very kind.”

“It was all the truth,” I tell her. I hadn’t realized she was listening.

“I know that. I’ve seen it. But sometimes he doesn’t let the rest of the world see it—at least, that’s what I think.” She beams at me. “You’re good for him.”

I offer her a weak smile. “I hope so.”

“Oh!” She holds a finger up in the air. “I almost forgot. Willow dropped off the book you asked me to get for you. I have it behind the front desk.” She scuttles away and retrieves the library book.

It’s tucked inside a canvas tote bag. She hands it over to me, and I hug it to my chest, feeling myself relax at the reminder that Holland is waiting for me to give him a romance novel to read.

That he asked for it. That he remembers things about me and about us. I need to trust him.

“Thanks, Daisy.”

She heads into the kitchen, and I walk upstairs slowly to wait out what I’m afraid is going to be the longest morning of my life until practice, when I can see Holland again off camera and hopefully get some reassurance.

At least I have some good reading material.

Holland joins me at the golf course right on time.

I smile at him, and he smiles back, but he doesn’t make a move to hug me or anything like that. He drops his bag and starts stretching.

“How was your date?” I ask casually.

“It was nice. Fine.” He reaches for his putter. “What do you got for me today?”

I clear my throat, thrown off by his all-business attitude.

“Right. Okay. We’re going to work on your grip. Let me see it. ”

He holds out his putter for me, and I walk over. I trail my fingers along the ridges of his knuckles. Yeah, I’m checking the way he’s holding his club, but I’m also desperate for some physical contact. I’m hoping he is too, and he’ll take this opportunity to act on it.

I linger in his personal space for an extra second, and my stomach drops—and not in a good way—when he doesn’t make any type of move.

I clear my throat and step back. “Good. That looks good.”

“Do you want me to putt from that nine-foot range?” he asks.

“Yeah. Let’s start there.”

He runs through an hour of exercises. I watch him and offer suggestions. I try a couple more times to make flirty comments or position myself closer to him than is absolutely necessary, but he doesn’t bite.

By the time our practice is winding down, I’m feeling stupid and frustrated. Holland says he’s into me, and yesterday, I swore he was, but today? Not so much.

“Alright. That’s enough. Let’s be done.”

“You sure?” He leans against his club. “I can do more.”

“You’ve done plenty.” I turn away from him. “Besides, you’ve got another date to prep for.”

I hate how petty I sound. I hate all of this. I stride over to where I parked my golf cart, and I’m about halfway there when a hand wraps around my wrist.

“Mallory, wait.” Holland is at my side, but I feel so humiliated I can’t look at him. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

I spin to face him. “What’s going on? I don’t know.

Nothing, Holland! Because I thought you were into me.

I was dying to get out here with you, away from the cameras.

And you’re all business. I can’t get a read on you, and now I’m questioning everything, and I can’t function like this. That’s what’s going on.”

Holland drops his chin to his chest, and my heart flies to my throat. This is it. He’s going to break up with me right now. Can it even be called breaking up if we weren’t technically together? I don’t know.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are warm and earnest. Tears cloud my vision, but I pinch them off like a champ. I will not cry.

“You think I’m not into you?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know!” I throw up my hands. “I was trying to be flirty, and you shut me down. What am I supposed to think?”

“I was trying to prove to you that I respect you as a coach!”

“You…” I pause. “What?”

Holland steps forward and uses his fingers to tip my chin up.

“Mallory, I am very much into you. That has not changed. That is not going to change. These arms that you’ve seen putt dozens of balls today?

All they want to do is hold you. These eyes that study the greens, analyzing the slopes and angles?

All they want to focus on is you and…” he adds with a wolfish grin, “on your slopes and angles.”

I press my lips together, pleasure and relief snaking through me.

“These ears that listen to every little thing that you say out here when we’re practicing…they want to listen to everything, Mal. I want to know everything about you.”

I blow out a breath that sounds a little like a sob. But that can’t be right. I’m not a crier. Except…

Holland reaches up and brushes a tear off my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m going to do this the right way. I’m going to show you that I can still be a professional here at work.

I’m not going to cheapen who you are to me by taking advantage of time that’s meant for golf—at least not until we have this all worked out. I respect you too much.”

I cover my eyes with my hands, because this is all too much.

“Hey, look at me.” Holland gently pries my fingers off my face.

“I have thought of no one but you all morning. I can’t stop playing back our date from yesterday.

And pretty soon”—he brushes his thumbs along my jaw, dipping his gaze to my mouth—“I’m going to get real personal when I take you out. Sound good?”

My mouth is suddenly dry, so I lick my lips and nod.

Holland groans and lets his forehead fall against mine. “I swear you’re trying to kill me, woman. Grip practice? Really?”

The swoop in my stomach is back, but this time, it’s the good kind. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“Pure torture. But now…” He gets a playful gleam in his eye before he bends and wraps his arms around me.

I yelp as he hoists me up and over his shoulder. I squeal, pounding on his back. “Holland! Put me down!”

He takes off running down the fairway. “No way. I’m showing you some more of my grip.”

I let my head fall forward, and I grin. I refuse to doubt this man again.