Sam shrugged. “All of those things will definitely result in you making a fool of yourself.”
He tried to imagine himself walking around Misty River with a megaphone. “If I, ah, need your help with any of these, you’d be willing, right?”
“Definitely not.”
“Bydefinitely notdo you mean yes?”
“Definitely not.”
•••
Across town, Penelope and Cameron were on a date.
Penelope lined up the putter they’d given her at the Putt Putt golf counter. She swung carefully and connected with her magenta-colored ball. It rolled just past the hole and continued going until it plunked against the concrete lip.
“Sorry about that,” Cameron said.
He kept apologizing every time she missed. He didn’t seem to comprehend that she was not competitively invested in this game.
“Should I go?” he asked. He was a stickler for the rules. “I’m farthest from the hole, so I think it’s me.”
“Be my guest.” She stood her putter upright like a cane and crossed one foot over the other.
Cameron took a great deal of time checking his line and strategizing. Bless him.
He had very thick black hair and a strong, stocky body. He looked like he could be a mobster’s favorite son. But his personality belonged to a Kindergarten Sunday School teacher. Uncertain, earnest, squeaky clean.
The sun had almost finished draining color from the sky. A nearby light post lit Cameron’s pale blue button-down and beige pants. In the drone of the fake waterfall beside her, her thoughts wandered to a winter night and a secret dance and a stolen kiss—
“Penelope?”
She straightened, returning to the present. He’d sunk his shot. She putted. Missed.
“Sorry,” he said.
The next time, her ball finally went in.
Cameron made a dutiful notation on the score card using a miniature pencil. “Do you want to go on to the next hole? Or we could sit a while?” He indicated the indentation carved into a large imitation stone to create a bench.
“Let’s go on to the next hole.”
“Cool.” He gave her a besotted smile.
They arrived at hole nine, where it appeared the aim was to hit into a rectangular opening beneath a windmill.
“Would you like to go first?” he asked. “Technically, I should since I had the lowest score on the last hole.”
“You go.”
When it was her turn, her ball obediently sailed into the opening.
“Awesome!”
“Thanks, Cameron.” They progressed down to the circle of green where their balls had emerged.
“You’re farthest out,” he said.
He had so many good qualities. Cameron was brainy. Employed. He had straight white teeth. He did not live with his parents. Like her, he loved Legos and Jesus. Best of all, he was not in the Air Force.
