Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(15)

Evelyn and Jim exchanged a look, plopping down on their plastic-covered couch simultaneously. They were already smiling, because they trusted that whatever she said was going to be positive. They were all fired up and ready to be supportive, just like always.

If only they knew how much she’d let them down.

A notch formed in her throat while she prepared to speak.

She’d let the insurance lapse on the Golden Tee. Hadn’t been taking care of her health, the way she’d promised to do in exchange for some independence.

Now she was betting on a long shot to fix everything. Would it pan out?

Yes. No.

Maybe.

Please. Let this work.

“Some volunteers helped me clean up the shop this week. It’s still waterlogged and damaged, but the ruined inventory has been thrown away and we pumped out the water.” She smiled at her father. “I think there’s a chance we’ll still be able to use Pop Pop’s old register, once it dries out a little bit.”

“That is excellent news, honey.”

“Yes.” She looked down at her suitcase, briefly wondering if she’d hit her head during the hurricane and this was an elaborate coma dream. “It’s going to take some time before we . . . have the money to repair the shop. But once we do, I’m going to meet with a contractor about finally making the additions we’ve been talking about forever. It’s going to be more functional and modern. We’ll have the drive-through window and consultation lounge. The putting green outside. It’s going to be bigger and better than ever. You’ll see. We just have to be patient.”

Her mother blew a raspberry. “Those darn insurance companies. They’ll take your money easy enough, but God forbid you try to get some back.”

“What your mother said.”

“Yes. That’s all very true.” No more stalling. Josephine opened her mouth to continue, but her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jean shorts. “Er . . . hold on. Someone is texting me.”

“Who is it?” Evelyn asked. “Is it the insurance company?”

“They don’t text people, Mom.”

Josephine’s stomach jolted at the name on her screen: Wells.

Wells was texting her.

It hadn’t stopped being weird.

The afternoon she’d taken him downtown for a haircut, they’d exchanged numbers out of necessity. After all, she was going to be working for him. Since then, however, he’d texted only once with her flight information and seven measly words.

Be in San Antonio by Tuesday night.





She’d reread and analyzed that single sentence all week. Did that mean he’d succeeded in reinserting himself into the tour? Because that was not going to be easy. The PGA tour officials took tradition and sportsmanship very seriously. Walking off the course in the middle of a round without consulting anyone, followed by a highly publicized disappearance from the public eye? Not very sporting, indeed.

Josephine tapped on her second text from Wells, hoping it would provide more insight than his last message. Perhaps what she could expect once she reached San Antonio, a tee time for Thursday morning, his overall feelings about the course itself.

Nope.

Wells: Bring a dress.





“A dress?” she muttered.

For what? Certainly not to wear while caddying. All she’d packed was the proper attire for spending four days traipsing around in the hot Texas sun. She’d have to swing home on the way to the airport in order to pack something fancier.

Josephine: Why?





Of course, he didn’t answer. Wells Whitaker didn’t like questions.

Josephine sighed. “While we’re waiting for the repair money, I’m going to be out of town a lot. Traveling.”

“Traveling?” Her mother lost some of the color in her face. “Where?”

Jim patted his wife’s hand. This was going to be hard for Evelyn. Sudden changes to the daily routine of a diabetic meant adjustments up the wazoo. Mainly meal planning, but the change in time zones also meant rearranging her long-acting insulin schedule and preparing for big fluctuations in her blood sugar numbers. Diabetes was a bucking bronco of a condition and it didn’t like change, which made traveling a challenge. While Josephine was growing up, they’d rarely gone anywhere outside of Florida as a result.

“This week, I’ll be in San Antonio. Texas.”

“Oh, I see.” Jim beamed. “She’s going to watch the tournament. Good for you, kiddo.”

“Well,” Josephine drew out. “I will be watching it in a sense. But I’ll also be caddying for Wells Whitaker.”

Evelyn and Jim looked at each other. And how they laughed.

“You really had us going for a second there, Joey-Roo,” said Evelyn, dabbing tears of mirth from her eyes.

Josephine had seen this reaction coming. “Guys, I’m serious.” She shook her phone at them. “Look, he’s texting me right this second.”

“Sure, he is,” her father said with an exaggerated wink. “Ask him how he managed to birdie the fifth hole at Pebble Beach back in ’21. Did he go into the rough on purpose?”

“Wells doesn’t like questions.”

Evelyn and Jim fell back against the plastic couch cushions, laughing.