“We complement each other,” he remarks at random, eyes staring at the golf balls in our hands.
My brows pinch. “What?”
He taps the yellow one I hold. “Purple and yellow are complementary colors. We complement each other.”
Huh. “I was in the mood for yellow today,” I explain dumbly, not really knowing what else to say.
“It’s a good color for you. Warm.”
I stay quiet.
“This is where you tell me that purple is a great color for me,” he states confidently.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Why would I do that? And what does that even mean? Purple doesn’t even symbolize anything.”
“Wrong.” He holds up his golf ball between two fingers. “Purple is associated with royalty, nobility, power, luxury, and ambition. Why do you think it’s my favorite color?”
I make a face. “I don’t know. To be different?”
He smirks. “That too. But it’s a symbol. Music royalty. Hard earned money. The lap of luxury. Some might even call me ambitious if they knew me well enough. See where I’m going with this?”
“And I’m…warm?” My eyes drop to the neon yellow ball in my hand attempting to connect the color to me somehow.
“You’re warm, welcoming, and kind. You may not have a favorite color, but yellow suits you well. It’s enthusiastic and enlightening. Open to optimism.”
None of that sounds particularly like me. “I think you’re making things up now.”
“So be it.” A shoulder lifts. “I suppose not everybody can see their worth that easily. But everyone who knows you would agree with me.”
“I’m pretty sure everybody would agree with you because you’re famous,” I counter, walking ahead of him. “You could tell people you were abducted by aliens and they’d probably nod along. It’s the accent. Makes everything sound—” I stop short of saying sexy.
His blue eyes light up. “My accent makes everything sound like what, Rylee? Enlighten me, I’d love to know.”
Internally groaning, I murmur, “Sexy. You didn’t need me to say that though.”
He snickers, dropping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into him. Dropping a kiss on the top of my head, he says, “No, but it’s still nice to hear.”
After we finish the course, we walk back to the cabin-like building where the owner is waiting for us behind the counter. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s here on a Saturday in the off season, but then again his eyes lit up when Garrick passed him the cash, so I guess he wouldn’t mind at all.
“Ice cream?” Garrick prompts, pointing at the sign attached the side of the building. “I asked earlier if he had any left and he says they have a few options before they clear out for the year.”
Rubbing my arms down the front of my jeans for friction, I’m about to say ‘no’ when he guides me inside and calls out, “Do you have any gloves by any chance? My girl is cold.”
My eyes widen momentarily at the label, but I don’t meet his eyes because I know he’ll see the flush on my cheeks. “You don’t have to—”
“I know. Stop saying that or I’ll have to remind you of that little promise I made.”
I shut up quickly, though a part of me really wants to finish the sentence.
The owner collects our clubs and balls and sounds genuinely apologetic when he tells us he only has golfing gloves.
Garrick turns to me. “We can go.”
“You wanted ice cream.”
“Only if you do.”
I roll my eyes knowing he’s excited over the dairy treat, so I give him my shoulder and face the owner. “What do you have?”
Since Garrick is insistent that I have $100 to spend, I tell him I’ll cover the food. He doesn’t fight it, simply hands over the money once he gets the total and tells me to sit at one of the booths across the room. I hear the heat kick on before I feel it but sink into the seat once the warm air blows on me.
It doesn’t take long before Garrick slides in beside me instead of the spot across the table, making me side eye him as he places a cup in front of me that is not ice cream.
“Is this…?” I breathe in the salty scent.
“Soup. Chicken noodle.” I’m about to comment when he points at the steaming cup. “I gave him ten bucks to pick out the carrots since you hate those.”
“How do you know—”
“You always pick out the carrots and peas from the soup you heat up. Haven’t you noticed the stuff I’ve made you doesn’t have any in it?”
Well…yes. But I just assumed he didn’t like vegetables either. Which is sort of stupid because I’ve seen him eat them in other things. I even noted how much spinach he consumes and called him Popeye once, but Chase told me not to because it’d go to his brother’s head.
He chuckles, licking the vanilla and chocolate twist cone in his hand. “I’ve always loved veggies, even as a kid. Chase on the other hand, he used to try hiding them under the rim of the plate like nobody would notice. When Mum would clear the table, there’d be a perfect circle of peas surrounding it. Little fucker would blame me for it.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s classic. I remember blaming my cousin once for the drawing I put on the wall. My parents didn’t buy it. Mostly because my cousin wasn’t even in town that day.”
He shakes his head, amusement on his face. “Those were the days, huh?”
Dipping the spoon into the soup, I swirl it around and blush when my stomach rumbles. “Sometimes I miss it. Do you?”
It takes him a moment to answer. He looks off to the distance like he’s giving it proper thought, before taking another lick of his ice cream and then lowering it. “Yes and no. I miss being able to go out without people harassing me. I
