Page 47 of The Enemy Plot
My eyes widen. “Oh, okay.” Maybe it’s just me, but bringing a new date to you and your ex’s go-to spot feels a little weird. But I guess we all see things differently.
We fall into some chitchat, and I learn that he’s recently single, works in real estate, and likes to read. Thrillers and horror mostly, but that’s a good start.
Finally, it’s our turn to play, and the course is as fun as it looks. The displays are interactive, and when I score in England, a King’s Guard figurine pops out and says, “Well done, mate.”
There’s even a couple of corgis in front of a miniature version of Buckingham palace.
“This is so fun,” I say, taking a moment to admire the display before we move to the next hole. “Do you have any pets?”
“I do, actually.” He smiles. “I have a pug; his name is Percy.”
A grin stretches across my face. “Oh, like in Pocahontas! That’s super cool.”
“Yeah.” He scratches his head. “Eloise named him. She was a big Disney fan, but the rental she moved into didn’t allow pets, so I got custody.”
“Oh, cool.” What else am I supposed to say? We’ve been on this date twenty minutes, and he’s already mentioned his ex twice.
We play Germany, and I bounce with excitement when we make it to France. Call me patriotic, but anytime I see my country somewhere, I get a little giddy. Even if I love it here in the States, France will always feel more like my home country, even if that’ll probably change over time.
“Ah, France!” I say, gazing at the beautiful display. There’s an Eiffel tower obstacle in the middle of the fairway, aboulangeriefront with croissants and bread, and a figurine of a man wearing a striped navy shirt and a beret.
“You love France, huh?”
“I do. I’m half-French, actually,” I say with a smile. “I was born in the US, and I live here now. But my dad is French, and that’s where I spent most of my life.”
“Oh,parlez vous français?”
“Bien sur. Et toi?”
“Oui, oui. Je—um, sorry, that’s the extent of my French vocabulary,” he jokes.
I laugh. “That’s okay. French is super hard to learn.”
“Oh yeah,” he says, smiling to himself. “Eloise and I were supposed to get married in France, so she made us take those online classes. It was a disaster.”
I force a grin. “Oh, okay.”
And, third strike. I wonder if I’ll know more about Eloise than Hector by the end of the night. Though I suppose I should cut him some slack. Getting back into the dating scene after a serious long-term relationship must be hard.
We continue our tour of Europe for the next forty-five minutes, and I learn a lot more about Eloise. She doesn’t like pizza—who doesn’t like pizza?—she took Flamencolessons when she was a teenager, and they went on a Scandinavian cruise for their two-year anniversary. Hector organized the whole trip, and it was magical—his words, not mine.
Is it weird that I’d rather be on a date with Greg right now? At least he was interested in me—well, kinda. Or Deacon. And that kiss . . . No! Hector is clearly not the one, but neither is Deacon. I just have to think about my favorite book boyfriends. Unfortunately, that’s a total bust. Because the thing is, most of them now either look like or sound like Deacon.
“Alice?” Hector frowns, clearly waiting for me to get out of my head and follow him to the Netherlands.
“Right, sorry.” I offer an apologetic smile. Not that I have to apologize for thinking about someone else for a few seconds, considering we’ve pretty much been on a three-way date since we got here.
The Netherlands boasts a super cute display, complete with beds of tulips, decorated clogs, and of course, a functioning windmill as a large obstacle in the middle of the fairway. At the bottom is a small door to putt the ball through.
Hector plays first, lining his putter with the ball, probably hoping to pass through the windmill in one stroke like he did at the Eiffel Tower. But he hits the ball a little toohard, and it ricochets off a rock at the edge of the display. It then catches in the blades of the windmill, getting punted back through the air until it hits my face with a loud thud.
It smacks me hard, and I fall backward with the force of the impact.
“Alice!” Hector yells, hurrying over to me. “Are you okay? I am so sorry.”
A little crowd has formed around us, and I offer a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
I touch the spot where the ball hit me and feel a large bump growing.Great.