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)
Nate groaned. “Who is going to keep you in line?”
She imagined, rather than saw, Wells’s eye roll. “I’ll be fine.”
* * *
But he was not fine.
He was not fine at all.
As soon as Josephine landed in California two nights later, her phone started to buzz, alerting her to the fact that she had three voice mails—and none of them were from her eternally anxious mother calling to make sure she’d arrived safely.
They were all from Nate.
Still waiting to exit the plane, she hit play on the first one.
Hello there, Josephine. Just checking to make sure you got on the flight. Nervous laughter. We need you in San Diego, kid. The meeting with Under Armour went . . . fine? Notice my high-pitched voice when I say fine. Wells didn’t like the shirt they asked him to wear. To be fair, it was lime green, but he didn’t need to call it hell’s official uniform. As you can imagine, they were a little insulted. I think I’ve smoothed it over, but . . . we sure could use you on the West Coast.
Letting out a pent-up breath, Josephine moved on to the next voice mail.
You’re on that flight, right? Ack. Wells and Calhoun exchanged words during a practice round. A lot of C-words being thrown around and none of them were my favorite C-word—condo, followed closely by capital gains. The commissioner called to issue a warning. Could you speak to the pilot about taking a shortcut or something? I’m only half joking.
With a weight increasing in her stomach, Josephine hit play on the third voice mail and wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while hauling down her suitcase, carrying it off the plane clutched to her chest.
For the love of everything holy, Josephine. A reporter asked Wells a somewhat personal question about you. That reporter’s equipment is now in the lake. We are on red alert here, my friend. Danger zone. Text me immediately when you land, please. I’ll just be over here buying out the entire antacid section of Rite Aid.
Josephine set down her carry-on outside a Hudson News and started to tap out a text to Nate, but a message popped up from Wells before she could hit send.
Wells: You land okay, belle? Airline website says you should have touched down six minutes ago.
Josephine: I’m at the airport. How did your day go?
Wells: Perfect. I nailed it.
Josephine: Really.
Wells: I even helped a reporter clean his camera.
Josephine: WOW. What a Boy Scout.
Wells: Man scout. Look for a guy in baggage claim holding a sign that says Wells’s Belle.
Josephine: What??
Wells: He’s your limousine driver. I don’t fuck around when it comes to my girl.
Josephine stopped in the middle of the busy walkway, bouncing right to left on the balls of her feet for a good five seconds before continuing on her way.
Josephine: You really didn’t have to do that.
Wells: Happy birthday, Josephine. Finally making it up to you. x
She frowned a little bit over that last message. What did he mean by “making it up to her”? She would find out when she reached the hotel, she guessed, but for now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of the busy airport. Sure enough, when she rolled her carry-on through baggage claim, a white-mustached man in a suit and jaunty cap was holding a sign that read wells’s belle. Despite her protests, he took over the duties of maneuvering her bag through the people traffic, leading her out onto the sidewalk, where a champagne-colored stretch limousine idled.
“Oh my gosh,” she muttered, opening the door and throwing herself inside as quickly as possible, so no one would see her partaking in something so needlessly extravagant.
“Surprise!”
The interior of the limousine was dark, save for a row of blinking blue LED lights along the perimeter of the ceiling, so it took Josephine’s eyes a moment to adjust enough to make out the figure sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle.
Even then, she didn’t quite believe it. Her eyes had to be lying.
“Tallulah?”
Josephine didn’t know it was physically possible to have tears burst forth from her eyeballs, but that’s exactly what happened. They ejected. Trembling and overcome, she crawled on her hands and knees to the front of the limousine, her best friend meeting her halfway. Laughing tearfully, they threw their arms around each other and toppled sideways onto the leather row seat. It took a full minute for Josephine to speak, words kept getting stuck in her throat. Was this real? Was this really, actually real?
“What are you doing here?” Josephine sobbed, pulling back to look at one of her favorite faces of all time, before diving back into the hug.
“Keeping the secret has been so hard. I’ve wanted to call you a hundred times.”
“When? H-how?”
“Wells Whitaker, that’s how. He emailed me a couple of weeks ago and asked what it would take to bring me in for a visit. When he finally convinced me he was Actual Wells Whitaker, I told him it would take an act of God to get me days off and a trip to California. And he said, ‘Then you’re in luck. Have your boss give me a call.’ I think he promised her tickets to Augusta or something.” Tallulah grasped the sides of Josephine’s face. “You are caddying on the PGA Tour, Joey. I repeat, you are caddying on the PGA flipping Tour.”