“Great,” he said, punching something into his phone. “Sam and I had a nice chat about Byron Nelson.”
“Who’s that?” Amy asked.
The man gave her a withering look, put his phone to his ear, and walked out of the kitchen.
By now, Amy’s call had rolled to voicemail. “Julie!” she hissed into the phone, and glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t listening. “Where are you? You need to call me—”
The man was suddenly in front of her.
“As soon as you can,” she quickly added, and hung up. “What?”
“Sam’s not answering, and her voicemail is full.”
That tracked. Julie often complained about her sister not answering and having a full inbox.
“What about you?” he asked, nodding to the phone she was gripping.
“Not answering,” Amy admitted.
“Well. Here we are.” He lowered his phone. So did Amy. He slid it back into his pocket. So did Amy.
“We’ve got ourselves a problem,” he added unnecessarily, then bit into her apple.
“Not really,” Amy said. “There’s a resort up the road where you can probably get a room.”
“Funny,” he said. “I meant it’s a problem for you. I’ve paid in full for this place.” He took another healthy bite of her apple.
That was the moment Amy thought she might have to fight him. She considered her options and found them all lacking, and therefore resorted to throwing a fit. “I’m not leaving.”
“Neither am I.”
She braced her hands against the marble kitchen bar. “Look, Mr….?”
“Neely.”
“Mr. Neely. Ineedthis. Do you know how long it’s been since I had alone time? Before my first son was born, seventeen years ago, that’s when. I finally get a chance to do what I love—”
“What’s that?”
Amy paused. “What’s what?”
“What do you love?”
She felt a little ridiculous saying it, but who was this guy to her? “I’m an artist. A painter. Anyway, I have a show coming up, and I need to paint, and I need to be creative, and in order to be creative, I need space and alone time. Therefore, I need you to leave.”
“Huh,” he said, and put the apple core on the countertop like a Neanderthal. “Well here’s the thing, Mrs….?”
“Ms. Casey.”
“Here’s the thing,Ms. Casey. I have injured my knee, and I need some time to decide what I’m going to do with myself, because my old way of life isn’t working with the knee anymore.”
“What’s the old way of life?”
“Golf.”
For heaven’s sake. Why did men think the sun and moon revolved around their golf game? She rolled her eyes.
“Professionalgolf,” he clarified.
