I steer the cart one-handed, the wheel loose under my palm as the tires crunch over the path. He’s not wrong. My mind’s not on the next hole or my scorecard. It’s nine thousand miles away, curled up in a bed in Charleston, wearing my hoodie.

“How’s Magnolia?” Somehow it feels like he’s not just asking about her. He’s asking about me too.

I grip the wheel tighter. “She’s good.”

It’s not a lie. Magnolia is missing me, but she’s back at work, settling into life at home again. While I’m a fucking mess without her. And my father, perceptive as ever, doesn’t miss it.

He leans back in his seat, looking out over the course. “How are you holding up since she left?”

I look straight ahead. “Not my best if I’m being honest.”

That’s a bloody understatement.

Magnolia’s absence sits on my chest like a weight that won’t shift. I check my phone more times than I can count, hoping to find her name lighting up the screen. I still wake up expecting her to be next to me, only to find the sheets cold and untouched.

But saying all of that out loud to my dad? That’s not me.

“There’s no way she could stay in Sydney?”

“She has a life in the States––a job, responsibilities, friends who love her. I never expected her to give that up for a bloke she knew for three months.”

Dad nods, adjusting his glove. “That’s fair. But where does that leave you?”

The question is tough. “It leaves me… missing her like crazy.”

He studies me for a moment and nods like he understands. And maybe he does.

Dad prepares his shot, his grip steady, his movements unhurried. He swings, sending the ball rolling onto the green before turning to me.

“She’s there, you’re here. What does this mean for the two of you?”

I grip my club a little tighter. “We’re going to keep seeing where things go. But I’d be lying if I said the distance wasn’t brutal.”

“I don’t imagine it’s easy.”

“We talk all the time. FaceTime, calls, texts.” A smirk tugs at my lips. “Some of those FaceTime calls have been eventful.”

Dad arches a brow. “Eventful, eh?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to leave it at that.”

He chuckles. “Probably best.”

We walk, the conversation stretching between us. And I throw him something I know he won’t expect. “There’s a chance she could return.”

Dad stops mid-step. “Is that so?”

I glance over at him, my grip firming around my putter. “Her employer might send her back to Sydney.”