Page 34 of Married to Lies

“No, just some jargon.” I chuckled. “I’ll be your guide.”

“Thank you, Gandalf,” she muttered before trying again. After three tries, she picked up the ball and walked it to the hole, dropping it in.

“I’ll write a two,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow.

“One?”

“Bingo.” She gave me the finger guns.

I laughed and then took my shots, eventually writing a three next to my name. “So what about plus-size brands?” I asked as we walked to the next hole. “There have to be some that use larger women as fit models.”

She huffed a laugh. “Those are great... if you love loud prints and cold shoulders and⁠—”

“The salespeople are mean?”

“Jargon,” she teased. “I’ll be your guide.”

“Okay, Glamdalf.”

She laughed heartily. “I see what you did there.”

I smiled far too proudly. It was easy to laugh and smile with her, and it set me off kilter. My business brain brought me back though. “It sounds like plus-size fashion is an underserved market,” I said.

“Big time.” Then she laughed. “Ha. Big time. Get it? Big time, big clothes?” She giggled again. She laughed at her own jokes. That was almost as adorable as her next shot was terrible.

About halfway through the course, we stopped keeping score, and she quit using her club altogether, claiming she was better at mini bowling than mini golf. I was worried about what damage she’d do with a thirteen-pound ball after seeing her with this little dimpled one, though.

Eventually, we made it to the end of the course, and I walked her to the bar, where several frozen drink machines were already set up along with urns of coffee and cocoa. “Any preference on drinks?” I asked. “We have plenty of options.”

“Cocoa sounds amazing,” she said, eyeing the urn labeled hot chocolate and the tubs of marshmallows and whipped cream next to it.

While I doctored up her cup, she looked around. “Are we really the only ones here?” she asked.

I nodded. “Us and Steve.”

“Who’s Steve?”

“The...” I set down her cup to check my phone. “‘Big man with the scary gun.’”

“His name's Steve?” I nodded, and that seemed to amuse her.

I passed her the cup and then poured myself some cocoa. Once we sat down at a table, she said, “Steve needs a nickname. Like Axel. Or Sledgehammer. Something scary. Not Steve.”

“Is he a wrestler now?” I retorted.

She nudged my leg under the table. “Don’t make fun.”

“Don’t make it easy,” I countered with a smirk.

She gave me a sarcastic smile and took a sip of her cocoa. “Ugh, it’s so good.”

I tried mine and then nodded in agreement.

“You know,” she said, “I was worried about today.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.