She stopped short when she found Wells sitting on the couch. Shirtless in sweatpants.
The television wasn’t on. He wasn’t reading or looking at his phone.
He was just . . . sitting there.
A finger of alarm traced down her spine, but she shook it off.
Maybe he was visualizing the course at Augusta. That wouldn’t be unusual.
“Morning.” She circled the couch and sat down beside him. “I’m usually the one who wakes up first. Everything okay?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”
Nerves crept into her throat, but she laughed through them. “Why does it feel like I just walked into a breakup?”
Wells flinched. Just the slightest gathering of his shoulder muscles—
And the air evaporated from Josephine’s lungs.
“Oh my God,” she managed, pushing off the couch onto legs that were suddenly nothing more than cooked spaghetti noodles. “A-are you breaking up with me?”
Wells shot to his feet as well, looking pissed. “Are you serious, Josephine? I am not breaking up with you,” he gritted out. “Don’t even say those words out loud.”
The roiling in her stomach settled. Slightly. “Then what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” He shoved five fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, visibly calming himself down. “You’ve been hiding the screen of your phone, staring off into space when you think I’m not paying attention. And I think part of me knew what was going on, especially after days passed and you hadn’t said one word about the Golden Tee. So I . . . called Jim last night.” He took a step toward Josephine, where she’d frozen in place by the glass door that led to the balcony. “When were you going to tell me that the Golden Tee has to open its doors by next week, Josephine?”
It was all real now.
More than just words on her phone and a problem for tomorrow.
It was big and messy and she had to deal with it out loud. Right now.
“I’m going to call the owner of the course today and try to make him see reason.” Her voice was veering toward high-pitched, apprehensive, but she couldn’t seem to control it. “I can’t miss the Masters, Wells.”
“Josephine,” he said calmly, though his eyes were anything but. “You should be in Palm Beach, getting the shop ready. I would have gone with you. I would have helped.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Then why stay quiet about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. We both know.”
Josephine shook her head. She even had the impulse to run. Just run straight out the door and not have to hear anymore.
“Yes, we do,” Wells continued in a gentler tone, closing the distance between them and cradling her face in his hands. “You’re afraid to tell me you’re not going to be caddying for me anymore. Let’s just get it on the table, belle. We don’t hide from each other.”
With those meaningful words in her ears and his familiar, beloved hands holding her cheeks, coupled with his nearness and the scent of him, Josephine was about to have a moment of weakness. A really, really big one. Someday she would look back and excuse herself for being a woman so in love, she was willing to give up everything to maintain the feeling. Keep the connection burning bright. To continue living the fairy tale no matter what it cost. To do what was best for this person she cared about, adored, needed.
“I’m sorry I hid it from you. It’s just that . . . I’ve been thinking. Maybe I could hire a manager for the Golden Tee, so I can stay on tour with you.” She forced a laugh, even as tears sprang to her eyes, and staunchly ignored the stab of self-betrayal in her abdomen. “I mean, I would look really cute in that white caddie jumpsuit at Augusta.”
Wells looked . . . frozen.
“Hire a manager?” His hands fell away from her face and hung at his sides. “You must really believe I can’t continue winning without you. If you’re willing to do that. Let someone come in and live your dream. You would hate every second of it.”
“I would get used to it eventually.” Even she could hear the doubt in her tone. “And it’s not that I don’t believe you can win! I just think . . . I just. I can help, right? I help you.”
“Of course, you do, baby,” he said, passion evident in every word. “But I see what’s been going on now. All this pressure that has been piled onto your shoulders.” He shook his head. “Good luck charm this. The woman behind the comeback that. My manager hassling you to come babysit the golfer with the bad temper. Now you feel responsible. You feel obligated. And you are not. You’re not.”