“Oh, you lying liar. What does it mean?” I fake exasperation, lifting one brow at him. His face is stony and unmoving as we sit together in a stalemate. His lips finally quirk to the side, and the laugh he was holding back makes my shoulders relax.
It’s been seven years, and though it may feel natural to be around each other, there’s still a newness to our interactions. He doesn’t know me anymore, and I certainly don’t know him. Not this new, older man. But maybe...
Clinton breaks through the fog of my thoughts. “It’s a game. We’ll decide on which hole to play it at, but basically golfers will spin a wheel to find out what club they’ll use to hit with. It could help their shot or muck it up a bit.”
I write down his thoughts on the paper. “Maybe a beat-the-pro contest too. With you being there, so many players would love to go head to head with you. And I can run a few campaigns on socials like I do with Shaken Tropes.” His approving nod sends those butterflies fluttering again. Butterflies I’m trying so fucking hard to settle down.
“That’s good. I can reach out to some of my contacts for sponsorships, as well as the businesses in our community. Matter of fact, let me add it to my calendar now.” He pulls out his phone, and I watch him open his calendar, inputting a few meetings with basic information before his eyes meet mine again. “Thanks for suggesting getting together. This feels a lot more manageable now that we’ve sat down together.”
“This is a lot. I don’t know how one person did all of this.” I shake my head, tapping the pen on the paper.
“How’ve you been, Heartbreaker?” I can’t tell if the nicknameis him flirting with me or if he’s trying to be civil.
“I’ve been really good, actually.” Making sure to meet his eyes, I answer truthfully. I’ve had way more good days than bad, and Shaken Tropes is thriving. “Having the bar keeps me busy, and it’s been a dream if I’m being honest. I find myself here if I’m not at home or spending time with friends. How about you?”
“Europe was…” He pauses and finally pops the fry he’s been holding into his mouth, like he’s unsure of what to say. “It was exactly what I needed—for my career but so much more. It’s why I decided to stay. I actually spent a lot of my time in Ireland. Getting the chance to travel to places I dreamed of when I was kid was an incredible experience, but I’m really glad to be back home. I’m getting settled into my new place.”
“You’ve been living in Ireland since you left?” I ask, surprised he stayed all that time.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful. I considered staying, you know?” he says, popping in another tot. “But when I really considered what my next steps were, I wanted them to be here, at home.”
He doesn’t mention a girlfriend or wife. How do I ask him about the woman I saw the other night? I wonder if he met her overseas, considering he just got back home. Here I am fawning over him and he’s taken. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?
“I’m glad you're back.”I’m glad you're back? I’m glad you're back?!I think again, shouting it in my mind. Why would I saythat? Fuck me. “I mean, it’s good to have you back. Especially now, for the tournament.” I scan the table, needing to look at anything else but him so I can slowly implode. Poof gone.
I notice we’re both done with our food. “Let me get this.” Without letting him say another word, I pile up all the trash onto one plate andtake it behind the bar, dumping it in the trash can. I breathe in, feeling the cool air as I do. I didn’t expect for him to still have this effect on me. I can feel the heat of him next to me before I even turn around. Clinton’s lean form rests against the bar top. “This doesn't have to be weird, Paloma.”
“What do you meanthisdoesn’t have to be weird? Nothing is weird,” I say, making it more weird. Maybe I should take a shot every time “weird” is thought or said. I’d have a happy buzz by now.
“Working together. Being in the same town again. It doesn’t have to be strange for us.”
“Clinton, I—” He stops me before I can give him a sorry-ass apology for my actions seven years ago.
“We’re good together,” he says but then backtracks. “We work really well together. The past is the past right?” The weight of his words sit on my chest, and I realize I’ve been too in my head, and it shows. He’s been living his life, just as I have. He’s clearly moved on, and I’m digging too deep into something that’s not even there anymore.
“Um, yeah. The past is in the past.” But even returning the sentiment doesn’t feel right because it's not in the past. How can it be the past when the past is looking right at me, in the here and now?
12
Lou: We missed tee time again because of your shenanigans.
Chuck: My shenanigans? You mean the two love birdies who just landed in the rough.
Lou: Seems like the golf cart is closer to the DeLorean than we anticipated.
Chuck: No one could have anticipated this.
The sun is blazing and I feel every burning ray as I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead. “Do you want to try?” Clinton asks, angling his head to the golf club in his hand. Since he started a few months ago, he’s kept me intrigued with his shameless flirting and light teasing. His first week was busy but after he got his schedule all sorted, he always seemed to break during my lunch hour, and we spent that time laughing through meals together.
I’ve enjoyed every moment of our playful banter. If he lived in Cypress Lake permanently then I may be more worried about actually falling for him and end our friendship all together. But he doesn’t, and I find that fact somehow makes it feel safer to get closer to him. Will it suck when he leaves? Of course, but I’ve already readied myself for his absence.
Today, we were planning on getting some ramen off the course, butGlen pulled us both into the office. What I thought was going to be a reprimand for spending so much time together turned into me becoming Clinton’s assistant which is strange to me, but everyone here seems to simply jump in wherever they’re needed, and I didn’t want to seem like someone who couldn’t play their part on a team.
Glen may have mentioned it would help me better understand all the terms and needs of the clubhouse. He isn’t wrong; I’ve tried to learn the rules and terms, but they just aren’t sticking. When Clinton was hired to be the interim pro, I never would have imagined it would also mean I’d have to eventually spend entire shifts with him for the foreseeable future.
I wasn’t hired to walk around helping a man through every step of his day, and I won’t lie—it kind of pisses me off. Not really the man himself, just the situation. Instead of working in an air conditioned office I love, I’m out here sweating my ass off.
“No, golf isn’t really my thing,” I reply, attempting to rein in my frustration.
