Page 98 of Keep Me Never
He’s where he wants to be and he isn’t afraid to let me know.
I love that about him.
“Paige?”
My head snaps toward my grandfather, who has this look on his face. It’s almostknowing, like he understands what I’m thinking, to an extent anyway.
Maybe he does, though he’s never offered much about his own love life, about my grandmother. I’d like to ask but know too well how hard it is to answer questions you’re not ready for. He’ll tell me their story when he’s ready, and I find no fault in that.
“It’s your turn, sweetheart.” His gaze is soft, and he holds out a golf club.
I smile, taking it from his hand, and step up to where the ball is being set up for me.
Prescott looks up, pushing to his feet as I approach. “Ready?” He smiles, smoothing his polo down as he stands to his full height, looking as polished as ever.
“Here,” he offers smoothly, signaling to the club in my hands. “Allow me to show you.” His smile is easy, genuineenough, and when he moves closer, there’s a natural, undeniable charm about him.
But before he can position my grip, I smile, lifting my hand just slightly. “I think I’m okay, actually.”
There’s a moment of pause that has my nerves stretching, but then a smooth, slightly amused chuckle leaves him. He takes a step back and to the side. “Not gunning for a tour anytime soon, huh?”
“Absolutely not.” I laugh along with him, stepping up and eyeing the little white ball.
“Fair enough.” His hands slide in his pockets. “Let’s see it.”
I line up my shot, trying to focus despite the eyes on me.
“Aim just past the tree line, and swing smooth.” Prescott offers his tip when I hesitate a moment.
Nodding, I give it my best, and while the ball doesn’t soar, it does travel in the right direction.
“Not bad.” Prescott nods, stepping back as I lower the club.
I look up at him, expecting to meet his gaze, maybe share a quiet smile, but he’s already turned away.
A flicker of guilt sneaks in, and I wonder just for a second if I hurt his feelings by shutting down his offer to help so quickly, soobviously. But if I let him help me the way I’m pretty sure he intended to, it would have put us in an intimate position, be it intentional or not, and that’s just not something I would have been comfortable with.
The night he and I went out, it wasn’t a date to me, and while I think he felt the same, I don’t want there to be any confusion. I am not available, and I’d like to make sure that is clear, just in case. Still, I don’t want things to be awkward, and I don’t want to appear rude.
I exhale, glancing toward my grandfather only to find him watching me. Not the shot I just took. Not Prescott. Me. His gaze lingers a moment before he looks back at the course, like whatever he’s thinking comes as no surprise to him.
“Shall we?” Prescott calls, and I look over to find him moving toward the next hole, a friendly smile on his face.
It settles something in me, and I nod, waiting for my grandfather to start walking, falling in step beside him.
“You know,” he begins after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “The game’s not really about power. Not the way people think. It’s about patience. Precision. Knowing when to lean in and when to hold back.” He looks at me then, his gaze subtle but steady. “About restraint when you want to swing harder than you should.”
Curious, I glance his way, noting the reflective tone in which he’s speaking, like this is a thought he’s had for a while and he’s only now figuring out how to voice it out loud. “Most people aren’t patient enough for that,” I say.
His gaze flicks to me, considering. “No, they are not.”
We walk a few steps in silence before he speaks again. “Most think it’s about the big moments,” he says. “The drive, the winning shot.” He pauses, eyes on the horizon. “But it’s the quiet parts in between that win the game. The moves we make when no one’s watching, but we still choose the right thing.”
He could be talking about anything. About the game, about me, or maybe even my mother.
“Sounds like you’re not just talking about golf,” I allow myself to mention, my voice soft.
A ghost of a smile flickers across his mouth. “Am I not?”
