Page 8

Claws

Mallory

F or all of the annoying things Holland brings to the table—and as we’ve established, there are many…at least in my eyes—I’ll give him one thing: he’s got an amazing home town.

The drive into Cashmere Cove from the Green Bay airport was stunning.

The other nine women and I, all traveling in a large coach bus, with our reaction to where we’ll be spending the next few weeks being filmed for the show, took it all in.

I tried to keep my expression mostly neutral.

I’ve gotten pretty good at masking my true emotions so that I remain in control of whatever situation I’m in and so that other people take me seriously.

But the ladies were squealing and pointing out different sights.

Highways turned into long winding country roads, and we saw a farmer on a tractor in the middle of a wheat field.

Wildflowers carpeting the earth. Lighthouses along the shoreline.

It’s hard not to drool over the surroundings.

The road wound us up the peninsula that juts out into the Bay of Green Bay and Lake Michigan, and trees near bursting with springtime buds made an archway overhead.

I caught glimpses of crystalline blue waters through the branches.

Sunlight dappled the road ahead, like it was sprinkling our path with possibilities and a dash of good luck. The whole place felt sort of enchanted.

Let me be clear: I won’t be caught dead admitting that on camera. Because I get how corny it sounds, and I’ve got a reputation to uphold. But there is something truly magical about Cashmere Cove—or at least that’s how it feels .

The town opened up in front of us, and Main Street felt like it was a ribbon bookmark stuck into the cracked spine of a storybook.

On either side, colorful downtown buildings, with wooden signs affixed above their propped-open doors, seemed to beckon us in.

Lamp lights lining the sidewalks looked old-fashioned in a charming sort of way.

Planters currently sat empty, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture the rainbow of bright blooms that’ll cascade out of each of them come summer.

By that time, one of these women will be on Holland’s arm, and they’ll be well on their way to falling in love—or something clichéd like that.

I’m still not sold on this entire reality TV dating situation… but to each their own.

We stopped outside Daisy’s Inn, and now we’re being positioned in a half circle on the front lawn. I’m doing my best to keep my jaw from dropping, but this place is incredible. There’s butter-yellow siding and a warm-brown shingled roof. And actual turrets. Like a freaking castle.

“We’re rolling in three, two, one.” Vivian cues Chad, who saunters forward from off camera.

“Ladies, welcome to Cashmere Cove and to Daisy’s Inn, the charming spot you’ll be staying for the duration of your time here. What do we think? Pretty spectacular, huh?”

There’s a chorus of, “Darling!”, “Charming!”, and “Amazing!” from some of the women whose names I don’t quite have committed to memory yet. I try to smile pleasantly at Chad, but my face feels weird, like it’s made of Play-Doh and my mouth is about to fall off or something.

“Let me introduce you to our host—“

“Yeah, Holland! We want Holland!” Belle lets loose a catcall, but Chad holds up his hands.

“Not that host, actually. And not me either.” He winks. “Ladies, this is Daisy Arnold. She and her husband established Daisy’s Inn forty years ago. ”

A short woman with brown, silver-streaked hair steps forward and waves to us.

She’s got what looks like a dusting of flour on her upper right cheekbone, and she drops her hand and wipes it on an apron that features faded sunflowers.

Her smile is genuine, and my shoulders immediately drop.

Something about her presence makes me feel at home.

“We’re so glad to have you all stay with us. Our guests are like family, so if you need anything, day or night, you let me know, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I hear myself say out loud.

The other women nod. I had no intention of taking the lead here, but I couldn’t help myself.

Daisy feels like the most real thing about the entire experience thus far.

She catches my eye and offers me another warm smile.

My throat is clogged with a surge of emotion. I miss my mom something fierce.

“On behalf of everyone, thanks for having us, Daisy,” Chad jumps back in. “Speaking of family, one of these women is hoping to join the Bradley family at the end of all this. Am I right, ladies?”

Another catcall from Belle.

Daisy raises a single eyebrow, but then a grin spreads over her face. “Becoming a member of the Bradley family means becoming a member of the Cashmere Cove family, and we’ll be glad to welcome whomever Holland brings home.”

“We’ll find out who that lucky lady might be very soon. For now, we’re going to let everyone get settled.” Chad turns to us. “Daisy has your room keys. You’ll get the room number based on the order Holland selected you during the bouquet ceremony.”

Daisy digs into the pockets of her apron and comes out with a handful of metal keys, each affixed with a ribbon that has a wooden number attached to it.

We all step forward and take our keys. I grab number ten, and Daisy catches my eye.

“That’s the old owner’s room,” she tells me. “Second floor, back of the building. ”

“Thank you.” I palm my key.

“Like Daisy said, ladies, make yourselves at home.” Chad spreads his arms out wide. “You’ll be hearing from Holland real soon.”

All this talk about home is getting to me, and I don’t know what little tear gremlin climbed inside my eyeballs and turned on the waterworks, but I can feel a mist building, and I need to clear it immediately because the cameras are still rolling as we walk inside.

The foyer is as stunning as the exterior, all warm woods and crisp white paint.

No other instructions were given, and I’ve determined that’s the production team’s way of keeping us off balance.

“What do you think we’ll do first?” Belle asks as we wander through the lobby. Daisy waves and ducks behind the registration desk into what I assume is a back office.

“I need a shower and some food, or I’m going to get hangry,” Michelle announces.

The other women agree and separate to find their rooms. Mindy Sue and I are in the back of the pack.

“I think you’re the only one on the second floor.

” She points at a sign ahead for rooms one through nine before glancing up the wide, wooden staircase that looks like it belongs in a rustic palace.

I put my foot on the first step, and it squeaks beneath my weight.

“You going to get lonely up there?” she asks.

“This place is cool, but it also feels like it’s one strong storm away from tipping over. You know what I mean?”

“Good thing there aren’t hurricanes in Wisconsin.”

“No, just spring tornados.” She winks. “I’m a weather woman.” Her voice transforms into something super professional and melodic. “KWOA. South Texas’s home for severe weather coverage. Keeping you in the know.”

“Okay, that’s impressive. ”

“What? Having the only job that allows me to be wrong about ninety percent of the time?” She laughs. “We all have our things. I hear yours is golf, like Holland,” she adds.

There’s no use lying, and I like Mindy Sue. She seems real. “I’m his coach, yeah,” I tell her.

“That’s what the other girls were saying.”

I shift on my feet. Mindy Sue doesn’t say more, but I don’t love the idea of the other women already talking about me behind my back.

I figured it would come up. I’m sure the producers told the others, if they hadn’t figured it out for themselves.

Anything to stir up drama. I hold in a cringe because I know how these shows work, and you don’t want to be the odd woman out.

But none of that matters because I’m not actually here for the show. I’m here for the golf.

“I’m going to head up.” I point toward the stairs at the end of the hallway.

Mindy Sue nods. “Come on down and chat if you want. Whenever. My door is always open.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Holland could do a lot worse than Mindy Sue—at least that’s my impression in the thirty hours I’ve known her.

I take the stairs quickly, and instead of finding the creaking disconcerting, it actually makes me feel even more homesick. I locate my room easily and toss my bag on the large, four-poster bed. As much as I want to curl up and take a nap, I agree with Michelle. I, for sure, need a shower.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and mostly put back together.

I didn’t bring much with me, but I do have a framed photo of my parents, my Aunt Jo, and me that I set on the bedside table.

I grab my phone and head for the chair in the corner of my room.

It’s positioned in front of the window that opens to the backyard of the inn.

Tree branches scrape the glass, and it makes me feel like I’m in my very own tree fort.

It’s a stunning spot. My parents would love it.

If the PT helps with my mom’s symptoms, maybe I’ll suggest that they take a trip up this way later this year.

Cashmere Cove would be stunning in the fall.

I have my finger poised on the call button to check in back home when there’s a brisk knock on my door. I hurry to answer it, stashing my phone under a pillow on my bed on the way.

“Hello, dear,” Daisy greets me when I swing open the heavy wooden door. “All of the ladies are gathering in the hearth room downstairs. I told the TV people I would send you down.”

“Thanks so much, Daisy.”

“Of course, of course. How’s your room? Everything to your liking?”

“It’s absolutely perfect. So comfortable and homey. I’m going to need it,” I mumble to myself.

Daisy’s eyes dance. “I hope it’ll be a nice respite for you.”