How to Honeymoon Alone

But then, he turns.

His eyes take in my clothes and stop at my shoes. That half smile edges his lips, and the cloud beneath me stabilizes. I float the rest of the way forward.

“What do you think?” I ask. “Proper golfing attire?”

“Not in the least. I like the shoes, though.”

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” I hold out my foot and twirl it around, like a moron. We both look down at my sandal and the coral color of my toenails. I give my ankle one last rotation before putting my foot down.

The silence stretches on.

Ignore it, I think. Just like we’re ignoring last night.

“Anyway, I don’t think I’ll do very well, so my footwear probably won’t matter. Won’t I be slowing you down?”

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. He pulls a navy cap down low on his head, and we start walking out into the warm midday sun. “But I’m not playing to set any new records.”Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Are we getting there by golf cart?” I ask, seeing the white vehicle parked outside the lobby. The Winter Resort’s name and logo are proudly emblazoned on the side.

“Yeah. Robert will take us.”

Robert does indeed take us. He’s pleasantly chatty on the way there, reminding us to take a couple of water bottles out on the course.

There’s someone waiting for us by the club house when we get there. A man in appropriate golf attire that looks almost nothing like my clothes. He greets us with a wide smile and gets us kitted out.

I nod and smile and accept all the clubs handed to me. They have names I vaguely recognize, like putter and driver, but also names like wedge and iron.

Phillip looks over at me from time to time, amusement a faint flicker in his eyes. He can probably spot my fake enthusiasm a mile away.

“So,” he says when we’re finally all loaded up in our own golf cart, equipped with pegs and balls and other things that have vaguely sex-related names. “Feeling excited?”

“More like intimidated. You know I’ve never done this before. Ever, right?”

“I know,” he says and gets in the driver’s seat. “But there’s thirty minutes between our tee time and the next group’s. I asked.”

“Oh. Is that good?”

“Yes. We have plenty of time. Now come on, get in.”

I climb onto the seat next to him. Our bags, with all the clubs I’m going to swing very, very soon, are in the back.

He drives along the trail toward the first hole. I look at him out of the corner of my eye. His shoulders are relaxed, his face unreadable.

“Do you golf often?” I ask.

“Often enough. It’s a good way to spend time with clients and coworkers.”

“Do you try to win when you play with your coworkers, but deliberately lose against clients?”

He snorts. “Something like that.”

We come to a stop near the first hole. The tension between us is slowly melting away, returning to what it had been before last night. Before the rum and the turtles and the ill-advised kissing complicated a good thing.

“This is the teeing area,” he says and puts the cart in park. “You’ll want your driver. We’ll want to hit as far out as we can on this one. See the flag down there? That’s the hole we’re aiming for. Try getting it on the green.”

I nod, like that makes perfect sense, and look at the assortment of clubs in my bag. It should be the one shaped for the greatest impact. My hand grazes over one made of steel, another that has a club-like head, to stop over one with a slanted metal edge.

I pull it out of the bag. “Got it.”

“Awesome. Do you want me to go first?” Phillip is crouching, putting a peg in the manicured grass. Atop it, he rests a ball very much like the ones in mini golf.

“Sure. Show me how it’s done.”

He chuckles. “Okay. You want to stand like this. See my stance?”

I do. I try to copy it, watching his tall body bend slightly, arms and back straight.

He hits his ball. It flies through the air, soaring in an arc before it lands somewhere very far away. I see it bouncing and rolling before it comes to a stop, about twenty feet from the first flag.

“Oh,” I say. “You’re very, very good.”

His smile slants into a crooked thing. “That wasn’t very far.”

“It looks super far.”

“A trick of the light. Feel ready to try?”

I walk up to the spot he’d started at. “Yes. Okay, so, I need one of those peg things, right?”

Phillip chuckles again. “Yes, but you need the right club first.”

“Oh. It isn’t this one?”

“No. The driver is the one with the…. Here. It looks like this.” He pulls the club with the giant head out of my bag.

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That club looks crazy.”

“It does, but it has a great swing to it. Okay, try this. Grip it like this… no, have your hand slightly… yes.” He curves his hand around mine and shifts it higher on my club. It’s warm around mine.

“That’s it,” he murmurs.

“Okay. Now I need to bend my knees, right? Just slightly?”

“Yes. But try the swing first without hitting the ball, just to get the hang of it.”