“What about this hole?” I glance at the wooden sign to my right. “What is the Okefenokee Swamp?”
Knox doesn’t hesitate, and his enthusiasm is infectious. “It’s the largest blackwater swamp on the continent and home to about fifteen thousand American alligators.”
My smile falters. “Georgia has alligators? Like the way Florida has alligators?”
I feel like someone should have warned me, because I am so not okay with becoming gator bait.
Knox chuckles. “Yes and no. The gators are all south of the fall line, and Okefenokee in particular, spans the Georgia-Florida border. Which means the only gator you need to worry about is that one right there.”
He points to a fiberglass reptile midway down the green.
Its mouth is wide open, and there’s a small, dark tunnel where its throat should be.
“You can’t be serious.” I look up at him, not bothering to hide my incredulity. “There is no way this ball is fitting in that hole. It’ll be way too tight.”
Knox smirks. “Careful, darlin’. You’re dangerously close to making a dirty joke.”
“The odds of me making a dirty joke are way higher than the odds of me making this shot.” And those odds? Pretty close to zero. I step back and sweep my arm toward the gator. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”
“With pleasure.”
He drops his ball onto the green and lines up his shot. I study his form, mentally marking the spot where he placed his ball. The muscles in his back ripple as he swings, and there’s a satisfyingpopas the club makes contact. The ball rolls straight down the green and into the gator’s mouth. Because of course it does.
It rolls to a stop on the other end of the course, just inches from the hole.
“You’re up.” He grins down at me like the cat that ate the canary.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You made that look so easy.”
“You can always shoot around the obstacle.” The words are laced with challenge. “There’s no shame in taking the easy route.”
I square my shoulders.
The club feels awkward in my hands, and my posture is stiff, but I do my best to imitate Knox’s form.
I swing, and the ball flies down the green, going airborne. It clangs against the gator’s snout and bounces off into a thick bed of pine needles.
“Don’t worry about it.” Knox strides into the mulch and collects the ball. “Everyone gets a mulligan.”
Might as well add another green flag for being a good sport.
I sigh. “I have a confession. I’ve never actually played miniature golf before.”
Knox’s brows shoot up. “Really?”
I can’t fault him for being surprised, especially when he has so many fond memories of playing the game as a child.
“I was a competitive gymnast growing up.” I shrug. “The sport didn’t leave much time for other activities.”
Which was exactly how my mother wanted it. Because if I was busy, I didn’t have time to get into trouble. Not like she did.
“That explains so much.” Knox chuckles. “Like how you managed to scale my deck with your bare hands.”
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” I grimace, swallowing my pride. “Maybe you could give me a few tips?”
He agrees, and we quickly go over the rules before he gives me pointers on my grip and form.
“You’re close, but it’s not quite right.” He repositions my hands, his touch gentle. “Do you mind if I…” He gestures behind me, and it takes my brain a second to process what he’s asking. “Sometimes it’s easier that way. So you can feel the correct stance.”