Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(105)

Mad at him. Missing him. Mad at him. Grateful.

Josephine finished the glassware display and moved on to stacking boxes of golf balls, arranging them according to brand. When the letters on the box started to blur a little, she remembered her glucose monitor had been going off for fifteen minutes and forced herself to pop some tabs, chewing almost resentfully.

Breaks gave her time to think, and she really, really didn’t want to think.

Thinking made the center of her chest feel like the Grand Canyon, just a yawning, arid place with acres of scorched earth and sharp plants.

Tell me you fucking love me.

For some reason, that was the part of their argument she replayed most. Because it was so Wells. So like Wells to demand something delicate with the roar of a king. That’s what he’d been doing all along. Shouting his insecurities at her and disguising them as arguments. And she loved him so much for it. She loved him so much she could cry enough tears to fill a lake, just for missing his presence. The scruff of his chin, the scent of his deodorant, the roughness of his hips, those epiphanies that struck his brown eyes when she said something that made sense on the golf course, his villainous frown. His deep voice, his grudging smile. The way he praised her, challenged her, coveted her. Spending a single second missing those things felt like a year.

And apart from that, apart from the razor-edged pining in her chest, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d truly done the right thing. She was hurt and bitter and still in shock from the man she loved banishing her, but the Golden Tee would be empty right now if Wells hadn’t sent her away. It would be a shell. Or maybe the course would be showing it to prospective replacements. People who wanted to give it a different name, maybe do a whole new renovation.

That would have killed her.

Missing Augusta was killing her, too. Slowly and painfully. Their cable had been installed this morning at the shop and the desire to turn on the television was high. But no, she was too afraid to find out he’d backslid and needed her.

Not when she wasn’t there to help.

Josephine unstacked another box and got to work unpacking it. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t hear Jim and Evelyn arrive. It wasn’t until her mother planted a kiss on her cheek that she joined them in reality.

“Oh! Hey, Mom.” She kissed Evelyn back, before giving her father’s face the same treatment. “We’re getting there.”

“Oh, Joey-Roo, it’s really coming along. It looks wonderful,” Evelyn effused.

Smiling was agonizing but she attempted one anyway. “Thanks. We still have quite a bit of landscaping to do outside, but nothing to prevent us from opening for business. I’m stopping by the bank tonight for cash. The credit card machines are up and running.”

Her parents nodded along with her verbal list of preparations. But when she finished and they simply stared at her without responding, it occurred to her how frazzled she must sound.

“Sorry for the info dump. I’m just excited.”

“Of course you are, Joey,” Jim said, affection shining in his eyes. “And we’re so proud of you for . . . everything. Especially your determination to carry the Doyle torch. To keep it burning.”

“Why do I sense a but coming?” Josephine asked warily.

Evelyn smiled. “When is there not a but coming with us?”

“Facts.”

Her parents traded a look. “Far be it from us to meddle in your romantic life, dear,” Evelyn said. “But we’re wondering if you’re just going to ignore the flowers.”

Josephine squinted. “The flowers . . . ?”

“And the giant teddy bears,” Jim added.

“I’m not following.”

Jim nudged his wife. “Don’t forget about the Bath and Body Works gift baskets.” He winced. “Seventeen of them, to be exact.”

“Ohhhh.” Josephine figured she was abusing her tactic of choice, playing dumb, her gaze reluctantly tracking to the other side of the pro shop, where gifts from Wells were literally piled up to the ceiling. “Those flowers and bears and gift baskets.”

Evelyn nodded encouragingly. “Yes.”

“I haven’t decided what to do about those yet.”

“Dear.”

“I’ll have to clear them out for the grand opening, but—”

“Joey, have you turned on the Masters?” Jim broke in.

“We only got cable this morning!”

Evelyn just looked disappointed in her. “Honestly, Joey. Quit being such a pussy.”

“Mom!”

The woman had the nerve to blush. “Well. Stop!”

Jim was slowly recovering from hearing his wife say the P-word. “Uh . . . I’m just going to turn it on. We can let Wells do the talking.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Josephine didn’t know, but she lowered herself onto a box and hugged her knees, bracing. Maybe part of her had known for the last few days that as soon as she turned on the tournament, the ice layer that had formed on her lungs when Wells said you’re fired would melt. Just melt clean away.

And she was right.

There were a few minutes of footage of another pairing before the camera moved to Wells. But then . . . there he was.

Wearing pink.

That alone was enough to bring a watery, incredulous laugh tumbling out of her mouth, the shock that lingered inside her softening until it stung less. And less. But then he turned around to retrieve a wedge from his bag and she saw it.