Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Probably best to get that out in the open, even if it made Duncan frown. I might be able to prevent myself from touching him, but I couldn’t keep the warmth from my voice, and I sure as hell couldn’t help the way I looked at him. Declaring a friendship was an easy way to hold off some inevitable parental curiosity.
“Lovely.” Judging by Mom’s speculative look, though, I hadn’t entirely quashed her questions.
“Does your friend golf?” Dad leaned forward, making no effort to disguise his eagerness. I groaned because I could bring home a werewolf, and Dad’s first question would still be about golf.
“Dad.”
“You knew I was going to ask.” He laughed lightly. “It’s the one thing making this retirement worth it.”
“Ha.” I shook my head at Dad.
“Yes, sir. I golf. A tiny bit.” Duncan went for triple good-guest points, answering the question, adding a sir, and being humble to boot.
I doubted anyone who’d had a tennis pro rather than a little league uniform golfed “a tiny bit.” And his father famously made a lot of big Hollywood deals golfing. Duncan had to be way more than passable, but I let him undersell it.
“You’re probably better than me.” I kept my tone teasing. “I think I hit every water trap last time Dad made me play.”
“Oh, you’re not that bad.” Dad waved his fork. “How about we get a round in? That way, we can let your mother rest after we help with the dishes. Then she can start her grand dinner plans in peace.”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble.” I turned toward her, knowing she would anyway. “We could order out.”
That was enough to finally get a laugh from her. “Never.”
“Well, I appreciate it.” Duncan was clearly still gunning for guest of the year. “Home-cooked is a rare treat.”
“Duncan was a SEAL,” I explained before taking more strawberries. “Lots of overseas deployments.”
“My father served in the navy.” Mom took on a more wistful smile. I had vague memories of that grandfather, but I’d forgotten that he served. Mom, though, always spoke fondly of her father. “What did you miss most on deployment? Maybe I could add it to the menu.”
“Anything hot, fresh, and made from scratch is always great,” Duncan said smoothly. “But Ezra’s been hyping your brownies this whole tour.”
Mom beamed. “Luckily, I have a batch planned. Think you boys could pick up some ice cream for on top from the Dairy Den after golfing?”
“Absolutely.” Dad smiled back at her before turning his smile on me. “Dairy Den plus a chance for Ezra to see his park.”
“You didn’t tell me it was your park.” Eyes crinkling, Duncan laughed before returning his attention to my parents. “He showed me the place with the giant earth sculpture on our way into town.”
“You showed your bodyguard your special place?” My mom tilted her head. “Did you tell him how you donated all that money for park improvements?”
“I told you, he’s also a friend. A friend who doesn’t need to hear me brag about giving to a good cause.” Keeping my tone light, I put the last waffle on Duncan’s plate. “Now, when should we leave for golfing?”
Between the four of us, cleanup went fast, and it wasn’t too long before we were headed to the clubhouse. Dad cajoled me into wearing “something presentable,” and I’d compromised with the same nice blue short-sleeve shirt I’d worn the last time we’d golfed. Unsurprisingly, Dad had already reserved a tee time, and we retrieved a cart and club rentals for Duncan and me.
As I’d expected, Duncan was damn good at golf, which made my paltry efforts all the more obvious, but he was so affable about his skills that it was easy to forgive him.
“I think you’ve played before,” Dad said appreciatively as Duncan easily chipped the ball into the hole. He was well under par and racking up all sorts of points with Dad as his new golfing buddy.
“A time or two. More when I was younger.” Duncan’s eyes narrowed like he was thinking hard about whether to play worse.
“You’re too humble. Keep on kicking our butts.” My dad clapped him on the shoulder. “You can give me advice on this next putt…”
My attention wandered to the rest of the course, the rolling green hills and picturesque landscaping and water features, and I tuned out Duncan’s and Dad’s golf minutiae conversation. There weren’t many golfers out. The early-morning rush had cleared out, with fewer people wanting to brave the midday humidity. However, another cart was heading our way, and I braced for needing to make nice with some acquaintance or another of Dad’s. My eyes narrowed as the cart bounced over the gently rolling hills, veering wildly from side to side, abruptly leaving the path. The cart’s lone occupant was slumped at an odd angle.