“I really do.”
“You sure?”
“Zaire,” she huffed. “Give me the nine iron.
Zaire stared at her like she’d just started reciting the periodic table. “A nine iron?”
“Yes, the nine.”
He dragged his eyes down her face, then scanned them over her stance, then back up again. “You know what a nine iron does?”
“Do you want to keep being cute or do you want to be humbled? Cause I’ll humble your ass.”
Zaire bit his lip to hide a grin. “That’s what we on this morning?”
Meadow put her hand out. “Club.”
He handed it over but slow, like he needed an extra second to look at her fingers as they wrapped around the grip. Something about his gaze made heat crawl up the back of her neck. She adjusted her stance and lined up with a confidence he didn’t expect.
Zaire leaned back a little, surprised and entertained.
“Aight then. Show me something, baby.”
Meadow inhaled with a gulp, eyes on the ball. She let her body remember everything she loved about golf. The morningsRay used to bring her out here when she was barely tall enough to hold a grown club. The long summers of whispered instructions in her ear. Elbow in. Feet shoulder width. Don’t rush. The swing will come.
She pulled back and swung.
The ball went straight. It didn’t go far like Zaire’s, but it was still controlled and confident.
Zaire’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you wasn’t lying.”
Meadow flicked her curls behind her ear like she didn’t care. “Told you.”
“You golf for real.”
“Been golfing since I was eight.”
“Eight?” His head jerked back in disbelief. “You was out here hittin’ balls instead of watching cartoons?”
Meadow shrugged. “Ray taught me. He taught all of us. He’s the best golfer I know.” She beamed with pride.
Zaire nodded, quieter now, eyes lingering on her a little longer. “That’s why he moves like that, like he really grew up in this game.”
“He did,” she said softly.
“And so did you.”
“I guess I did.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm, intentional. He watched her set up for another swing like she was revealing pieces of herself without saying it out loud.
“You know,” Zaire said. “You hold the club right. Your grip clean as fuck.”
“Thank you.”
“But your stance is off a little.”
Meadow snapped her head toward him. “No, it’s not.”
