“You’re overthinking it,” Callum said, stepping closer on a soft chuckle. “Here, let me show you.”
I turned to protest, but suddenly, his chest was pressed against my back, his hands sliding over mine on the club. My skin prickled, my body went hot, and for a second, I was pretty sure I forgot how to even breathe.
“Feet here,” he murmured, nudging my stance with his own foot. “Hands like this.”
If he noticed the way I stiffened, he didn’t mention it. He just adjusted my grip, his voice low and his warm breath ghosting across my ear.Dear Lord, how is anybody supposed to concentrate with him touching them?
My heart was pounding, my senses so attuned to him that I almost didn’t realize we were moving, but with him guiding the swing, the ball actually flew. I blinked myself out of my Callum-trance and watched it soar. “Oh my gosh. I did it!”
“You’re a natural.” He cleared his throat and then his heat disappeared from my back as if he’d stepped away quickly, like maybe he’d felt the same electricity and had also suddenlyremembered we were in public in front of my child.Well,ourchild, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Brody came running back with the stray, rolling ball in hand, beaming at Callum as he handed it over. “Maybe you should give Mom some pointers. You’re really good.”
It seemed that was enough to earn my son’s approval, and he chattered nonstop as we went through the holes. By the end, I was sweaty, sunburned, and sore, but grinning. Brody was glowing and that was the most important thing.
“Would you guys like some lunch?” Callum waved at the restaurant. “They make some pretty mean food in there.”
I didn’t even argue when Brody’s mouth practically started watering. “Awesome! I’m starving.”
“I thought you might be,” Callum said, guiding him in with me trailing along behind them. Once we sat down, I figured Brody would order a kids’ meal and Callum would get something sophisticated, like salmon or a salad with a name I couldn’t pronounce.
Instead, they both ordered identical double cheeseburgers with fries. I got a chicken wrap, just watching them and wondering how they still had energy to talk while we waited for our food. When the plates came, I sat in awe as they inhaled their food with matching gusto, their mannerisms so similar that it was striking.
Same elbows on the table. Same way of tearing into the burger like it had personally offended them. Same complete focus.
Brody polished off his plate and Callum leaned over with an eyebrow arched. “Still hungry?” Callum chuckled when Brody nodded enthusiastically. “That’s okay, buddy. So am I.”
He flagged down the waiter for another order of fries. The dessert menu came around when they were done, but Brodywrinkled his nose. He’d never liked sweets, which had always baffled me since I had such a sweet tooth myself.
“Can I have the chocolate cake, please?” I asked and turned to Callum, waiting for him to order something too, but he was already sliding the dessert menu back toward the waiter.
“More fries instead,” he said. “I’m not really one for the sweet stuff, but anything fried is amazing.”
Brody grinned like they’d just come up with a secret handshake. The two of them demolished yet another order of fries while I sat there, equal parts amused, unsettled, and oddly relieved—because Brody definitely liked his father.
This crazy plan might just actually work.
“Alright, buddy,” Callum said, ruffling Brody’s hair once we were on our way out. For the first time, I realized how natural they looked together. How comfortable. It should have terrified me, and in a way, it did, but in other ways, I just felt vindicated. “You keep practicing, okay? Thanks for showing me up today.”
“You showedmeup,” Brody countered, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll keep practicing, though. Next time, I’ll drive?”
“All the way around the course.” Callum grinned, giving Brody another high-five before he took off to go grab his golf clubs.
Callum turned to me and opened his mouth before he suddenly froze, his shoulders going tight and his jaw locking. I frowned but followed his gaze. “Callum? What’s going on? Who is that?”
An older woman was gliding toward us, perfectly put together in a chic golf skirt and sleeveless polo, her blonde bob sleek, her sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of one of those glossy lifestyle magazines stacked in the pro shop.
“Trouble,” he muttered under his breath.
I turned, beyond confused, but before I could ask again, her honeyed voice carried across the walkway. “Callum, darling! What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming here today.”
My stomach flipped as realization hit. The more I looked at her, the more I realized I didn’t need an introduction to know who she was.
CC Westwood, Callum’s mom, the family matriarch herself. Regularly featured in lifestyle spreads, tabloids, and in the society pages, she was pretty well known—and she was walking right toward us.
CHAPTER 13
CALLUM
