Page 88 of Pros Don't

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I tell her. “Come here.”

I pull her onto my lap and tuck my chin on her shoulder, inhaling a lungful of her peachy scent and letting it intoxicate me. Mallory is still for a minute until she leans her head down against the top of mine. I smile a big cheesy grin, and as the camera clicks, so does something in my heart, sliding into place.

“All done?” she asks, and she sounds slightly breathless.

I nod, but she doesn’t move off my lap. She takes her pencil and leans forward with the notebook, bracing herself against the wall of the photo booth. She jots down a note with check boxes for yes and no beneath it:

I want our first real kiss to be just us. Is that okay?

She hands me the pencil.

I checkyes.

I want to ask her when I can kiss her for real, because I want to now, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. We don’t have enough time for me to scribble that all out. Besides,she snatches the pencil back and writes another quick line of text.

You’re sweet and thoughtful. Thank you.

She shoves the notebook back at me, smiles, and scrambles out of the photo booth.

I slide out behind her, feeling like a hero.

33

Two Can Play

Mallory

Iemerge from the photo booth, and Vivian steps forward. The easy, playful side of me checks itself. I wish I could have stayed in there with Holland all night.

“Cameras and mics are dead for a second,” she says, and I exhale. Thank goodness. “Let’s see the shots, shall we?” Vivian grabs the photo film as it spits out on the side of the booth. She hums. “Look at how cute you two are. I totally called this, did I not?”

She looks up and over at her assistant. Caroline nods vigorously. “You did. I was there.”

“Gosh, I’m good.” Vivian turns to me and Holland, who fills the space behind me. He’s keeping his hands to himself, and I fight the urge to lean back into him. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to dive in head first too soon. I hope he understands why I told him “not yet.”

“Let’s move to the other barn for pie.” Vivian wanders forward.

We do as we’re told and cut out the back into the open yard between the two buildings on this property. Kids are racing around, and different groups sit at the smattering of picnic tables set up on the grounds. The only way to describe this place is idyllic. In fact, everything I’ve seen in Cashmere Cove is straight out of a storybook.

“I bet it was incredible growing up here.” I turn to find Holland watching me. I bob my chin in the direction of the kids. “It’s beautiful. All the people are so kind.” I think of Inez and Daisy, of Cy and of Holland’sparents.

“It was. And it is. And they are.” He responds to each of my points, but there’s a wistfulness to his voice.

“But?” I press after a minute.

He blinks and glances at me, shrugging. “No buts. Everyone here is so supportive of me. They’ve always been my biggest fans. When I’m out there on tour, I know that Cashmere Cove has my back. It’s hard not to feel like I let them down when I have a performance like I did at the Grand Masters.”

He offers me a wry smile. His shoulders have sagged ever so slightly, and for the first time in a while—maybe ever—I consider the pressure Holland is under. I never thought of it that way, mostly because he always seemed so happy and loose, like he didn’t have a care in the world. But it’s obvious he carries the weight of other people’s thoughts and opinions about him. I want to dive deeper into this. I want him to tell me exactly what he’s feeling and thinking, because I can tell there’s more he wants to say. He stopped there for a reason, and I’m guessing that reason is because the cameras are rolling, and whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t want to broadcast it on national TV.

Honestly, fair.

“What about you?” he asks as we pause to let a group of kids run past. “What was growing up like for you?”

I can’t help but smile. “Different than here.”

“Oh?”

“We lived in a small house right outside the city, so there were cool events happening all the time, but there wasn’t this close-knit feel. That, and we didn’t have a lot of money to do a lot of extra stuff. My dad runs a small mercantile. He caters mostly to tourists and military members who are passing through the downtown area and need something random. He works hard, and he loves his store, but he’s never exactly brought in a huge paycheck. My mom worked for him mostly and would take odd jobs to try to help us make ends meet, but she’s always hadchronic pain, so it was hard for her to hold down a job when she’d have to take time off when she physically couldn’t work.”

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