Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
She shook her head. “I’ll take you, Wells Whitaker. I’ll just take you.”
Epilogue
Eight Years Later
Josephine snuck a look at her watch. Ten minutes to closing and she still had customers in the shop, but that wasn’t unusual anymore. Over the last eight years, the Golden Tee had built a reputation as a must-do experience on every Florida golf trip . . . and she currently had a waitlist for consultations a mile long. She’d let the guests finish navigating the drone footage they’d collected throughout the day before kicking them out. The upside to having the most original pro shop in Palm Beach meant a lot of customers.
The downside was they never wanted to leave.
And she adored the shop, but she also really, really loved being home these days.
She took a moment to marvel over the large number on the bottom of the day’s credit card report before stacking the papers and heading to the office, which was a more recent addition at the back of the Golden Tee. As she passed the gathering of golfers, one of them whispered, “That’s Josephine Whitaker. She owns this place.” She pretended not to hear them, but once she stepped into the office, she allowed a smile to stretch her lips.
Let’s face it, a lot of people mentioned her in the same breath as her famous husband, who’d climbed his way back to his rightful position among the top ten in the world. It was only natural. But just as often, she was recognized for building this place. Her love letter to her favorite sport.
She set the credit report down on the desk and looked around the office, her gaze drifting over the framed photograph of Wells proposing to her at the eighteenth hole at the Masters. Beside it, her caddie uniform had also been mounted in a glass box, along with her taped together Wells’s Belle sign.
Josephine couldn’t get enough of the reminders of that roller coaster series of weeks she’d spent falling in love with her husband—love that had only deepened considerably over time. But the picture sitting on her desk? She loved that one even more. Wells asleep on the couch in their living room, his golf cleats full of dirt and grass, a tiny baby girl sleeping on his chest. He’d wanted to get home so bad that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to change into street shoes before flying back from the tournament.
Josephine could relate.
She gently booted the remaining customers, locked up the Golden Tee, and drove home to Palm Beach Gardens. She and Wells had purchased the house before the wedding just over seven years ago and he’d immediately replaced the normal, perfectly fine bathtubs with the biggest, most obnoxious ones he could find. The one in their en suite played music and had twenty-seven jets and nine color settings. He’d also soundproofed the walls.
Suffice it to say they spent a lot of time in that bathroom.
She parked and headed for the front door, taking a moment to smile through the glass at the scene that greeted her. Wells, hat on backward, standing in the living room with an infant strapped to his chest. A portable putting green was spread out in front of him, their four-year-old daughter poised to take her shot with the miniature club he’d given her for Christmas. Her auburn hair was in its usual tangle, poking through the edges of her skewed princess crown, her toes painted a familiar blue.
They matched Josephine’s.
As soon as Mabel finished taking her putt, Josephine walked into the soundless celebration—out of deference to the sleeping baby—and immediately had a four-year-old gunning straight for her, grubby arms wrapping tightly around her legs.
“Mommy!”
“Nice shot, Mabes! You’re amazing!”
As she stooped down to hug her daughter, Josephine locked eyes with Wells a few yards away and couldn’t stem the fountain of emotions that plumed inside her chest. Her breath ran short, hot pressure spreading behind her eyes. It was always like this when he came back from a four- or five-day absence during the season. He looked more than a little haggard and she knew it was from missing them. They’d been falling asleep on FaceTime for the last few nights and waking up the same way. But December was just around the corner, which meant a full month without traveling—and she was counting the days.
“Hey,” she murmured when her husband approached, reaching up to cradle his stubbled face, her heart sighing when he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “You’re home now.”
He nodded. Opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. “Belle,” he said raggedly, like it had taken all of his strength.
Something was up. He needed to talk to her. She could read him from a single word.
“Okay.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed him, flutters carrying through her stomach and beyond as he slid unsteady fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss with a low, lingering groan. “Are you all right?” she whispered when they parted for air.