One Last First Date

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Hunter swung and hit the ball with a tap, sending it flying up and away into the air, landing near the flag. I was so impressed with his accuracy and grace I burst into applause, slowing and eventually stopping only when Parker and Geoffrey shot me sideways glances. I clutched my hands in front of my body. Note to self: clapping must be reserved only for the professional golfers on TV.

  After an awkward moment, Parker took his position, pushing his tee into the ground and the ball on top of it. Just like Hunter, he swung through and hit the ball beautifully, although his didn’t get seem to get as close to the flag.

  This time I resisted the urge to applaud.

  “Bad luck,” Hunter said with a grin.

  “I’ll make up for it with my short game,” Parker replied stiffly. He seemed miffed. Perhaps he was as keen to impress me as I was him?

  Geoffrey followed suit, again his ball landing close to the flag, and, finally, it was my turn. Three sets of eyes watched as I prepared to hit my first ever ball on a golf course—not that any of them knew that. Everything in place, I stood next to the ball, sitting on my tee, my driver in my hands—thank you, Will—and eyed my target. This was the shot I had practiced and practiced at the driving range. I visualized myself hitting the ball so it landed right next to the flag, making me look like I’d been playing for years. You got this, Cassie.

  I took a deep, steadying breath. It was now or never. I swung my club behind myself and swung through, hoping, praying I didn’t humiliate myself by hitting the ground or missing the ball. I almost dropped the club in surprise when I heard the satisfying ping of club and ball making contact. I stood still, holding my breath, my feet concreted to the spot. I watched the ball sail through the air. It climbed and climbed, and then, after hanging in the air like a tiny pink ball on a string, it dropped. I squinted, barely believing my eyes. Had it landed almost on top of the flag?

  I leaped off my spot and punched the air. “Yes!”

  The three men’s heads swiveled around to look at me.

  Parker blinked. “That was quite the shot, Cassie. I didn’t realize how good a golfer you were.”

  I beamed back at him, my chest expanding. Hunter and Geoffrey both congratulated me.

  It’s official; I’m a golf genius.

  “I can see we’re going to have to lift our game to beat this one, Parker,” Hunter said, slapping him on the back. “You didn’t mention she was a budding Lydia Ko!”

  Parker’s smile was broad, his eyes sparkling bright. “No, I didn’t.” He looked so proud of me, I could burst, right there on the fairway.

  On a high, we slung our bags over our shoulders and walked down toward the flag, Parker taking my hand as he walked beside me. I was eager to see where my ball had landed, but just as eager to bask in the admiration of my boyfriend.

  “I had no idea you were this proficient a golfer, Cassie,” he said quietly to me.

  I shrugged. You and me both. “Oh, I like to keep a thing or two up my sleeve, you know,” I replied with an air of mystery.

  “Hey, maybe we could play a round with my parents? They’re pretty good players. They’re coming back from their cruise in a couple of weeks. I’ve told them all about you, of course.”

  Warmth spread through my belly. “That would be wonderful.” Meet the parents? Check!

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’ll set it up. They’re really going to adore you, my golfing queen.”

  “I hope so. You’ll have to meet mine, too.”

  “Okay.”

  A smile spread across my face. We walked hand in hand to the green. Sure enough, my girly pink ball was sitting pretty, only a few feet from the flag, leaving everyone else’s boring old white balls for dust. Wait until I tell Will about this! I smiled to myself. Good at Wii golf does equal good at real golf after all.

  I took a mere one attempt to putt my ball into the hole, and the three men applauded my effort. I took a curtsey, basking in the adulation. The three men putted their balls into the hole—Parker missed his first, had to take another two shots to do it, and looked very grumpy with himself as a result—and we moved onto the next hole.

  I was still as confident as could be as I watched the men hit their balls. It was my turn. I stood at the tee, preparing to hit the ball, fully expecting to perform just as dazzlingly as I had on my first shot. I was a natural, how could I possibly not kill this shot, too?

  I gripped the club the way Will showed me. I had this. I swung up behind myself and prepared to follow through. Too late, I realized something wasn’t right. I twisted my body too far around, and when I swung downward to hit the ball, I missed, stabbing the ground with my club, pain jarring up my arms. My mouth slackened as I watched the scene before me unravel in slow motion, like a home video you see on those funny TV shows. Although, this was far from funny for me. My club sailed out of my hands and bounced head to tail, head to tail, across the fairway in front of me. It finally came to a stop with a humiliating thud, a good ten feet away.

  The ball remained on the tee.

  I looked down at my palms accusingly, as though they had decided to let go of the club without my brain knowing about it. My heart sank down, deep into the pit of my stomach. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.

  Parker wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders. “What happened, Cassie? Are you hurt?”

  “No, no. I’m fine.” Merely unbearably embarrassed. “I . . . err . . . I don’t know what happened, exactly. One minute it was in my hands, the next it . . . wasn’t.” I looked up into his eyes. I could tell he was working hard not to laugh.

  He pressed his lips together, but the smile broke free. He let out a chuckle, his arm shaking around my shoulders. “That was quite something.” He reached down and brushed a stray hair that had escaped from my ponytail away from face.

  His laughter was contagious. Within seconds, I began to giggle. I glanced at Hunter and Geoffrey. Their eyes were shining as they tried their best not to laugh. They too gave in, and we all stood together, laughing out of sheer surprise—and how ridiculous I had looked.

  “We all have a bad shot every now and then. Yours was . . . well.” Parker was too gracious to continue.

  “Horrific,” I confirmed, because it was. There was no other word for it. I wouldn’t be telling Will about this one, that was for sure.

  The three men smiled. Although no one said it, I knew they all agreed.

  “How about you take the shot again and we’ll finish the day’s play off with just nine holes?” Parker asked.

  My heart melted. Parker really cared for me, and nine instead of eighteen sounded fantastic to me. I grinned at him, my eyes misty. “Perfect.” Just like you.

  The rest of the game proved resoundingly that my first shot was just fantastic beginner’s luck. I didn’t fail to hit the ball quite so spectacularly on the next seven holes, but I wasn’t exactly Tiger Woods or Lydia Ko, either. Nevertheless, I managed what Parker referred to as a “quite decent” total, so I could at least hold my head up high at the end of the game—and heave a sigh of relief no one filmed my epic golf fail.

  As we drove away from the club, having enjoyed a post-game cup of coffee with Hunter and Geoffrey, Parker put his hand in mine. “You don’t play often, do you? You can be honest with me.”

  I bit my lip, my eye twitching. “Some?”

  He gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. “It’s okay. The fact you gave it your best shot, and got that incredible first shot, is amazing.” He slowed the car and pulled over next to a playground, where toddlers were bounding around, watched by their parents, chatting to one another, holding cups of coffee. “You did it for me, right?”

  I looked into his soft, gentle eyes. I bit the inside of my mouth. The game was up: he knew. And I knew he knew. I decided to come clean. “Today was my first ever time. I mean, I’d practiced at a driving range and watched golf on TV, but I’ve never actually been on a golf course.”

  His mouth fell open. “Really?”

>   I nodded as my belly twisted into a knot. What would he think of me now?

  He leaned over the gearshift and collected me in a kiss. He looked into my eyes. “Cassie, you’re incredible. Thank you.”

  I shrugged, self-conscious. “For what?”

  “For caring so much you learned how to play golf and put yourself through all that.”

  I hung my head. “But I lied to you.”

  “So what? You were trying to impress me, trying to relate to me.”

  He leaned across and took my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes.

  Oh, my god. Here it comes. He’s going to say it!

  My heart hammered in my chest like an overenthusiastic bongo player who had drunk too much coffee. The anticipation of the moment was almost too much. I could barely breathe. I nodded at him, hoping to encourage him to say those three little words I knew he was about to say. Inside, my head was screaming, Just say it!!

  “Thank you.” He kissed me.

  Oh, for the love of God, say it!!

  He took my hand in his. “I love that you’d do that for me.”

  He loved that? He used the L-word? Oh, my! Things were definitely going in the right direction.

  He swallowed. “Cassie, I . . .”

  “Yes?” I leaned in, ready and waiting. He was going to say it. I just knew it!

  He smiled, his face glowing. “I really like you.”

  My eyes welled with tears as my heart clenched. I sprang across the seat and hugged him in close. “I love you, too!” I declared in a gush.

  He flinched, as though I’d threatened him with a hot poker. “What? Oh, yes. Great. Thank you. That’s . . . ahhh, just great.”

  That’s just great? What? With a sickening thud, my heart hit my belly as his words rung in my head. It wasn’t the “I love you” I’d expected. He liked me. Really liked me. Not loved me.

  I recoiled from him, my eyes darting around the car, a wild animal frantically searching for an escape. I didn’t know what to say. “I . . . umm . . . yes.”

  Parker took my hand in his again. It was warm against my suddenly cold flesh. “Cassie, please. I really like you, and I love spending time with you. Please accept that for what it is. It’s no small thing.”

  “Sure,” I replied, my voice unnaturally chirpy. “No problem. Consider it accepted.” I forced a smile. I couldn’t quite bring myself to look him in the eye.

  “And I so love that you love me. Really, I do. And I’ll get there. It’ll probably just take me a little more time, that’s all.”

  My hand felt like a log in his. “Of course! No worries.” I tried to make my tone confident and breezy—like I hadn’t just made a declaration of love for a man who simply “really liked” me. “Take your time. As much time as you want, in fact.”

  What am I saying?

  He looked entirely unconvinced. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Take as long as you need.”

  What?!

  “I mean, you feel what you feel, right? I can’t make you feel something you don’t feel just as much as you can’t make me feel something I don’t feel.”

  Somebody stop me.

  He nodded at me, looking a little skeptical. “That’s true.”

  “Like for instance, if you loved the Blues and I was like, no way, I hate the Blues and loved the Hurricanes instead, you couldn’t change my mind, could you?”

  Why was I talking sports?

  “Actually, I don’t really care for rugby,” he replied hesitatingly.

  “Whatever!” I shouted, my voice reverberating loudly around inside the car. “I mean, that was just an example to illustrate my point.”

  “I see.”

  “Or maybe you like apple strudel and I’m like ‘apple strudel, are you freaking kidding me?’ And you’re like, ‘yeah, apple strudel is the best’ and I’m like, ‘it sucks,’ and you’re like, ‘it does not,’ and . . . stuff.”

  Oh, good Lord.

  Now he was looking at me as though I was possessed by some sort of teenager with verbal diarrhea. “Yes, of course.” He cocked his head. “Cassie? Are you all right?”

  “I’m good. In fact, I’m great! We’ve got this whole ‘like-love’ thing out in the open, and you know what?”

  He shook his head.

  “I feel so much better. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders. A weight, Parker! I know where you stand and you know where I stand. It’s all good. Now, why don’t you take this baby on the road so I can get back home and get on with my day, thinking about how much you really like me?”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  He started the engine and glanced at me once more. I shot him my best Guy Smiley smile, and he drove me home through the busy streets of Auckland. As I sat in the passenger seat, watching the buildings and parks whiz by, I wondered how I had I gotten myself into this mess. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. No way, José.

  If I could have wiggled my nose and disappeared in a puff of smoke, never to return, never to have to see Parker again, in that moment, I knew I would have.

  Chapter 15

  I STOOD IN THE stairwell of the twelfth floor, my knuckles clenched at my sides. I took some deep breaths. It was seven minutes before my scheduled second interview with Laura, and I was as nervous as a deer with a neon target on its head in hunting season.

  After “the conversation” with Parker on Saturday, I’d said goodbye to him in his car, pleading a headache—unoriginal, I know, but I’d had a horrible experience and needed an easy out—and retreated to the sanctity of my home. I dumped my stuff on the floor and threw myself on my bed. I sobbed all my carefully applied, golf-appropriate makeup off onto my pillow. By the time I was finished, it looked like some small animal had been brutally murdered on it.

  After a long weekend, closeted away in my house, I woke up on Monday morning, resolved I was going to allow Parker the time “to get there” and not twist myself up in knots about it all. But the thought rung in my head: I’d said I loved him and he hadn’t said it back. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach seemed to have taken up residence, and I had little hope I would manage to shake it today.

  I took a deep breath. I needed to be on my game. Today was the second interview. No thoughts of Parker. No thoughts of unreturned feelings. No thoughts of my humiliation. No thoughts of anything except nailing this sucker. You can do this, Cassie.

  I reached for the door only for it to be pushed open, my fingertips cracking with the impact. I jumped back, clutching my hand, my laptop bag swinging perilously from my shoulder. It was Will “Poop Boy” Jordan. Again. Why did he always seem to barge through this door when I was here?

  “Oops, sorry, Dunny. I didn’t see you there.” He took in me nursing my hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  I shook my head in irritation. “It was the door. That’s all.”

  Concern was etched on his face. “Here, let me look.”

  Before I could protest, he held my injured hand in his and examined it. “Can you move your fingers?”

  With tentative movements, I twitched my fingers. They throbbed but there was no searing pain. They weren’t broken, thank goodness. “I think they’re okay. Thanks.”

  “Good.” He still held my hand in his. “I may not be your doctor boyfriend or anything, but I’m glad I could help.” He looked at me, smiling, like he was in on some kind of secret I didn’t know about.

  I glanced down at our hands. “Can I—?”

  He dropped my hand like it was a hot coal. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Are you here for your second interview?”

  I glanced at the stairwell door, then back at Will, feeling awkward. Did he really expect me to talk about my second interview with the person I’m up against for the job? “Ah, yes.”

  He nodded. “Well, good luck. Laura may come across as a tough old bird, but she’s a softie at heart. You’ll do great.”

  “Okay,” I replied, eyeing him u
ncertainly.

  He stood looking at me for a moment before flashing me his smile and taking off down the stairs, two at a time. I watched him leave and heard the door to the sales floor slide closed behind him.

  Well, that was weird.

  I raised my chin and took a deep breath. I reached for the door and pulled it open, plastered on a smile and approached Brian’s desk. “Good morning, Brian.”

  Brian looked up from his computer screen at me, peering over his glasses. “Cassandra Dunhill. Right on time. Take a seat, I’ll let Laura know you’re here.”

  I did as I was told because, even though I knew Brian was really a Spoodle of a man, he didn’t have the reputation of being an uncompromising Rottweiler for nothing.

  A moment later, Laura stood at her door, smiling at me. “Come in, Cassie.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  As the door closed behind me and I said my hellos to Laura and Hugo, the Human Resources Manager, my nervousness kicked up a notch or ten. Will must have been up here for his second interview when I saw him in the stairwell a few moments ago. Had he dazzled them with his confidence and expertise? Was I the irritating second interview they needed to conduct, although their minds were already set on Will for the role?

  We sat around the coffee table, overlooking Auckland’s sparkling blue harbor. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, thought better of it, and crossed them again. Laura shot me an encouraging smile. I relaxed a hint.

  “We are really interested in how the Marketing project is coming along, Cassie. Can you take us through where you are with it?” she asked.

  “I’d be happy to.” I pulled out my laptop, opened it up, and double clicked on the presentation I had prepared for this very question. As I talked, I noticed Laura nodding and Hugo jotting down occasional notes. Laura asked a number of questions, although I suspected she already knew the answers to many of them. They’d just finished their interview with Will, after all. I answered all of her questions, highlighting how well I was leading the team, and what we had achieved to date.

  “How do you think you and Will Jordan worked together?” Hugo asked once I had finished my presentation.