Chapter 11
Lou: She really does seem to be as at home here, as he is on the green.
Chuck: Maybe she’ll pour us both a drink after this fiasco.
Lou: We’re just the spectators, you old goat.
Chuck: If I’m an old goat, you’re chewin’ through this grass with me.
Paloma
Hey Clint, are we still on for lunch?
Clint
I was just about to text you.
We are! Thanks for fitting me in.
Paloma
Sorry I’m just confirming, it’s been a busy week.
Clint
It’s okay.
See you soon *winky face*
Could he be flirting with me? I stare at the winky face emoji for two seconds too long and watch as those three little dots pop up again.
Clint
Plus, I promised you food *smirking face*
He’s definitely flirting. Now all I can picture is that smirk he reserves only for me. I pack up my laptop in case I’ll need it and give Waffles a few scratches under his chin before I’m heading out of the door.
Humming a song I can’t remember the name of, I turn the key and unlock Shaken Tropes.
The song has been stuck in my head since the meeting at Mossy Oaks.
It was just low enough while I talked with Clinton that it embedded itself in my mind.
When Glen concluded the welcome meeting, Clinton asked if we could meet, and when I suggested here, he quickly agreed, promising to pick up lunch from Eggs Benny.
They have the absolute best chicken sandwich with thick slices of avocado and a sauce made with sundried tomatoes—any chance I get, I order said sandwich.
I lean over the bar and grab for the towel I know is folded behind it.
My feet dangle as I reach, my torso basically sprawled on the bar top, and I almost feel silly considering I could have gone around.
When my fingers rub against the soft fabric, I snatch it up along with the spray bottle of cleaner.
I love when the bar is quiet like this before anyone comes in; it's just me and Shaken Tropes. It gives me a few moments to appreciate this life. Getting to work with my best friend and live out one of our dreams. I smile to myself as I spray the tables, giving each of them a good wipe down. Knowing he’s coming to the bar gives me butterflies.
He’s someone I used to care for deeply. And having him here, a place I put all my worry but also joy, dreams, and love into—I wonder if he’ll see straight through me.
A firm knock at the front door pulls me from my thoughts, and I jog from a booth to answer, hoping it is my sandwich and the silver fox I can’t stop thinking about.
“Hey there,” I say, breathless as I take him in. A dimple appears on his cheek as he smirks down at me, and I try to convince myself I don’t want to lick it.
“Hey, Heartbreaker. It’s good to see you.
” I lock the door behind him. The bar isn’t open and I don’t want to worry about anyone walking in while I talk with Clinton.
His lavender and sandalwood scent engulfs me, scattering the butterflies in my stomach.
I shake the thoughts away. I told myself I could be an adult, and it’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I internally reprimand myself, refocusing on Clint.
“Thank you for picking up lunch,” I say just as my empty stomach makes itself known.
“I’m starved. Come this way, we can sit right over here and discuss how we are going to attack the coordination of the tournament.
” I lead Clinton over to a table, and he sets the bag of food down and pulls out a wrapped sandwich and a small container of what I hope are Parmesan fries.
“The owner said you would absolutely want these.” He sets the box down, and I just know if he mentioned my name, Benny knew to include them. He pulls out another wrapped sandwich and a box of sweet potato tots that he opens immediately.
I unwrap my sandwich and take a bite, enjoying how the avocado and melted cheese complement each other. Swallowing, I take a small sip of water. “I needed to take a bite of this before I pulled out this folder.” I hand him the folder with my notes so we can discuss the tournament.
He chuckles and says, “I actually looked it over yesterday, and the club’s event coordinator planned out a lot for us already.
We can stick to the script and figure out how we divide and conquer.
” He slides an identical folder onto the table and angles it my way.
Glen gave us both folders with the same information.
When I open the folder, I notice Clinton has marked a few suggestions based on me being on the bar cart the day of the charity tournament.
“Thank you for this.” My eyes flick to his for only a moment before they are back on the page. There is an air of awkwardness around us, and I don’t know if I’m the only one feeling it. Clinton has always been someone so at ease with himself, I’ve always found it incredibly attractive.
I lick my lips, rubbing them together, before I dare another glance at him.
I catch his gaze from over his folder, his eyes crinkle letting me in on the smirk he’s hiding behind the large logo printed across the front.
I don’t deserve his flirting, not when I haven’t even apologized to him.
I don’t know if I should address the elephant in the room, even if it seems to be sitting quietly in a corner.
Clinton deserves a real apology, but I don’t know if this is the right moment.
You can do this Paloma. Just apologize to the man and move on. He probably isn’t even thinking about it.
My eyes scan the folder a bit more, and I bite into a French fry, putting off the inevitable. “You know your mom gave me your number. If I had known it was you…” Clint’s silky voice drops off without finishing his sentence, and again I am reminded why I want him so badly.
“Hm, yeah? Well, how many Palomas could possibly be in the area?” I tease, wanting to egg him on just a little.
“She didn’t actually tell me your name. She was too excited telling me about her stunning hija, who she couldn't believe was still single, and then she went full on Spanish.” He chuckles, and I can already hear Mami's voice and the things she most likely said.
“She does tend to do that,” I respond with my own giggle, before biting into another crispy fry.
Being here with him right now feels so natural, and it reminds me of how we were seven years ago.
There was always this easy energy when we were together; I never needed to put on a figurative mask or try to be someone I’m not.
Much like with my best friends, I could just be, and it feels like that now.
I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not, so I change the topic back to the tournament.
“You noted something here.” I point to the page.
“But I can’t understand what you wrote.”
“What do you think about a few competitions during the tournament?” He pops a sweet potato tot into his mouth, and I gulp, watching his sharp jaw work and his Adam’s apple bob.
There’s no way he doesn’t know how attractive he is.
Impossible. I swallow as his dimple indents his cheek.
He continues, and I’m not sure if he’s choosing to ignore my ogling or if he is saving me from embarrassment.
“We could do a hole of fortune, maybe a hole-in-one challenge. ”
I squint my eyes, not being familiar with hole of fortune. I think he may be pulling my leg. “Do you mean Wheel of Fortune?” I ask, emphasizing the word.
He rests his elbows on the table, intertwines his fingers and rests his chin against them. “I'm just testing you. I knew you weren’t keeping up on the golf lingo.” He tuts, softly shaking his head.
“Oh, you lying liar. What does it mean?” I fake exasperation, lifting one brow at him. His face is stony and unmoving as we sit together in a stalemate. His lips finally quirk to the side, and the laugh he was holding back makes my shoulders relax.
It’s been seven years, and though it may feel natural to be around each other, there’s still a newness to our interactions. He doesn’t know me anymore, and I certainly don’t know him. Not this new, older man. But maybe...
Clinton breaks through the fog of my thoughts. “It’s a game. We’ll decide on which hole to play it at, but basically golfers will spin a wheel to find out what club they’ll use to hit with. It could help their shot or muck it up a bit.”
I write down his thoughts on the paper. “Maybe a beat-the-pro contest too. With you being there, so many players would love to go head to head with you. And I can run a few campaigns on socials like I do with Shaken Tropes.” His approving nod sends those butterflies fluttering again.
Butterflies I’m trying so fucking hard to settle down.
“That’s good. I can reach out to some of my contacts for sponsorships, as well as the businesses in our community.
Matter of fact, let me add it to my calendar now.
” He pulls out his phone, and I watch him open his calendar, inputting a few meetings with basic information before his eyes meet mine again.
“Thanks for suggesting getting together. This feels a lot more manageable now that we’ve sat down together. ”
“This is a lot. I don’t know how one person did all of this.” I shake my head, tapping the pen on the paper.
“How’ve you been, Heartbreaker?” I can’t tell if the nickname is him flirting with me or if he’s trying to be civil.
“I’ve been really good, actually.” Making sure to meet his eyes, I answer truthfully.
I’ve had way more good days than bad, and Shaken Tropes is thriving.
“Having the bar keeps me busy, and it’s been a dream if I’m being honest. I find myself here if I’m not at home or spending time with friends. How about you?”
“Europe was…” He pauses and finally pops the fry he’s been holding into his mouth, like he’s unsure of what to say.
“It was exactly what I needed—for my career but so much more. It’s why I decided to stay.
I actually spent a lot of my time in Ireland.
Getting the chance to travel to places I dreamed of when I was kid was an incredible experience, but I’m really glad to be back home. I’m getting settled into my new place.”
“You’ve been living in Ireland since you left?” I ask, surprised he stayed all that time.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful. I considered staying, you know?” he says, popping in another tot. “But when I really considered what my next steps were, I wanted them to be here, at home.”
He doesn’t mention a girlfriend or wife. How do I ask him about the woman I saw the other night? I wonder if he met her overseas, considering he just got back home. Here I am fawning over him and he’s taken. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?
“I’m glad you're back.” I’m glad you're back? I’m glad you're back?! I think again, shouting it in my mind. Why would I say that? Fuck me. “I mean, it’s good to have you back. Especially now, for the tournament.” I scan the table, needing to look at anything else but him so I can slowly implode. Poof gone.
I notice we’re both done with our food. “Let me get this.” Without letting him say another word, I pile up all the trash onto one plate and take it behind the bar, dumping it in the trash can.
I breathe in, feeling the cool air as I do.
I didn’t expect for him to still have this effect on me.
I can feel the heat of him next to me before I even turn around.
Clinton’s lean form rests against the bar top.
“This doesn't have to be weird, Paloma.”
“What do you mean this doesn’t have to be weird? Nothing is weird,” I say, making it more weird. Maybe I should take a shot every time “weird” is thought or said. I’d have a happy buzz by now.
“Working together. Being in the same town again. It doesn’t have to be strange for us.”
“Clinton, I—” He stops me before I can give him a sorry-ass apology for my actions seven years ago.
“We’re good together,” he says but then backtracks.
“We work really well together. The past is the past right?” The weight of his words sit on my chest, and I realize I’ve been too in my head, and it shows.
He’s been living his life, just as I have.
He’s clearly moved on, and I’m digging too deep into something that’s not even there anymore.
“Um, yeah. The past is in the past.” But even returning the sentiment doesn’t feel right because it's not in the past. How can it be the past when the past is looking right at me, in the here and now?