The Under Armour sponsorship money was due to arrive in the next few days, but Josephine needed to see the dollars in her account before she believed it was happening. During her meeting with the contractor, he’d drawn a plan for a courtyard in front of the pro shop with putting greens and a covered deck, along with a window facing the fairway where golfers could approach and purchase supplies without even entering the store. The very first pro shop drive-through in Florida.
All he needed was the go-ahead.
Making those improvements would clean her out again financially, but unlike last time, the money wasn’t going into a black hole. She wasn’t plugging one leak, only to watch another one grow worse. One more successful tournament with Wells and she would figure out her health insurance. The fabric of her life was finally knitting itself back together.
And she’d never felt lonelier.
Every time Josephine blinked, a memory of Wells would dance on the backs of her eyelids like a taunt. The way he’d stood outside the bag room, waiting for her with that cantankerous expression, arms crossed. How he twisted his hat backward when hunkering down to check the angle of a putt. When he’d checked her mini fridge for juice boxes. The taste and texture of his mouth, the stubble of his chin and cheeks so abrasive, yet welcoming on her softer skin. Their feet drifting side by side in the green hotel pool.
How he drawled her nickname. Belle.
Wells made her feel like she belonged. Like she was vitally necessary.
Treasured. Important. Even when they were arguing.
And she missed him very, very badly.
It was Sunday. Three days remained before she was supposed to meet Wells in California. She’d distracted herself for the last seven with cleaning and gearing up to make major changes to the shop, but three more days seemed interminable now. That morning she’d considered getting in her car and driving the ninety minutes to Miami to see him, but wouldn’t that contradict every decision she’d made on their final night together in Texas? She was keeping her distance for the good of her reputation. In the name of professionalism. Respect.
None of that seemed to matter at that exact moment, though, when she wanted to hear his surly griping so badly, her breastbone ached.
She would have given anything to call Tallulah. Just for five minutes, so she could tell her best friend everything. Tallulah would validate the decision she’d made. Or, at the very least, she’d ooh and ahh over the sex details. Life simply wasn’t as fulfilling when there was no one to tell about the afternoon she’d hooked up in a bag room. That information was meant to be whispered and blushed about after three glasses of wine.
Although . . . calling those stolen moments in the bag room a hookup didn’t exactly do them justice. Not when she could still recall the sensation of him inside her a week later.
Josephine slumped back against the damaged wall.
How had Wells spent the last seven days?
He’d texted her only once, with flight information. Just basic itinerary stuff.
Nothing else.
That’s what you asked him for. That’s what you wanted.
Josephine was saved from having to acknowledge the regret creeping in when she heard footsteps approaching from outside. If she needed any further proof that she missed Wells like crazy, it was in the way her heart rate spiked, her breath running short at the prospect of him walking into the shop.
Jim and Evelyn appeared in the doorway instead.
It took a considerable effort for Josephine to swallow the acute disappointment, which only led to a healthy dose of guilt. “Mom. Dad.” She dropped the tube of cleaning wipes in her hand and approached them, their arms wrapping around her shoulders and drawing her into a double embrace. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see you. I just wanted to get the shop cleaned up before you saw it in such terrible condition.”
Evelyn rubbed a firm circle into the center of her back, squeezed her tight. “It’s not your job to shield us from uncomfortable things, Joey.”
Uh-oh.
She knew that tone from her mother. Loving, as always, but decidedly wounded.
Josephine exhaled and stepped back, studying the faces of her parents. They weren’t the type to lay the guilt on thick, but they were guarded this afternoon. Hurt. And frankly, she deserved that reaction from them after being back in Palm Beach for a full week and avoiding the Big Conversation. “I’m not only sorry that I haven’t come to the house. I’m so sorry about the rest of it, too.” She wanted to rub at the discomfort in her throat, but her hands were covered in muck. “I don’t know what exactly you’ve heard on TV, because I can’t bring myself to watch. But . . . you’ve probably realized by now that I’m caddying for Wells because I . . . we need the money to repair the shop.”