“Decent.”
“Do you feel more confident coming into this tournament than say . . . a month ago?”
“Why? What happened a month ago?”
Laughter filtered through the tent. His manager all but slumped over in the back row, a relieved smile on his face. All it took to get his head together was Josephine showing up and smiling at him. Something about that nipped at the back of his neck, like a problem that was beginning to sprout teeth, but Wells ignored it. There were no problems to speak of when his girlfriend was wearing a blue dress and a smile.
The media waited for him to give a serious answer to their question.
Was this his moment to let it be known once and for all how indispensable Josephine was to their partnership? To make it clear that she was far from a charity case, but more like an untapped talent that he’d been lucky enough to find and benefit from?
Yeah. It was.
He’d done more than irritate their sponsor and tussle with photographers over the last two days. He’d drawn up a new contract with Nate. The kind of agreement that had never been executed between a golfer and his caddie before on the tour.
“Yes, I feel more confident,” Wells finally answered. “A lot more.”
“Would you say that’s because of your good luck charm?”
Was it his imagination or did Josephine’s smile falter a little bit?
Yeah. Definitely. But the change had been fleeting. Maybe being the subject of their question had just caught her off guard, because she was back to being her usual serene self now. “Why don’t you ask her?” Wells jerked his chin toward where Josephine hovered inside the entrance. “She just showed up.”
Every head turned at once.
A few camera flashes popped. Murmurs carried down the rows of reporters.
Someone in a headset rushed out onto the stage with a second chair and Wells stood, holding it for her. “And it’s her birthday week, so everyone better have something to say about it.”
A chorus of baritone happy birthdays rose from the gathered media while Josephine smoothed her dress and climbed the three stairs onto the stage. “Hey,” she whispered, her green eyes turning any remaining waves inside Wells into a placid lake. “I was going to come see you last night, to say thank you, but Tallulah and I didn’t stop talking until they closed down the bar. Like, we were physically removed.” She took a shallow breath and released it shakily. “Wells, I’ll never receive a better present as long as I live. I don’t know what to say.”
He didn’t, either.
Who had filled his chest with sand?
“Uh-hmm.” He grunted. Pulled her chair out farther. “Nice dress.”
Her sides shook with silent mirth. “Thank you.”
Another grunt, as they both took their seats.
Jesus, are you okay?
Was he feeling unbalanced because he hadn’t kissed her yet?
“Miss Doyle! Do you think you’ll inspire more women to become caddies on the PGA Tour?”
“I hope so.”
“How has the reception been toward you on tour?”
“No complaints.” She hedged. “I mean, there’s always a little ball-busting in the locker room setting, but it helps that I don’t have any balls to bust.”
Laughter boomed through the tent—and some of it came from Wells.
There was nobody like Josephine.
In the wake of her joke, she turned and smiled at him, her eyes twinkling like twin lakes beneath a sunset, and he lost his ability to speak.
I’m in love with you, Josephine.
“I’ve got a question for both of you,” said a man standing at the back of the tent. “The internet seems pretty determined to prove you’re a pair on and off the golf course. How do you feel about the speculation about your relationship?”
Wells’s ability to speak came roaring back. There was his opening. He leaned forward to speak into the group of microphones. “She’s my professional partner. My equal partner. That’s the only relationship that concerns anyone in this tent.”
“What do you mean by ‘equal partner’？” pressed the reporter.
“I mean, she’s just as responsible for any success out there as I am.”
Several beats of silence followed. They were visibly nonplussed.
“Are you going to give her fifty percent of the winnings, too?” asked the man, dryly.
Skeptical snorts followed that question. Most of the press, however, looked peeved by the reporter. A couple of them even threw crumpled-up paper cups at the man, which he batted away.