Chapter 1
A mind of its own
Caroline King was in no way a morning person. She awoke to the Saturday sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window and she groaned into her pillow. It looked as if a bird had attempted to build a nest in her straight brown tresses as she climbed out of bed, rubbing her groggy blue eyes. She glanced at her reflection in the vanity mirror and released an exasperated sigh. She reminded herself of something that might crawl out of the black lagoon.
Annoyed beyond belief and still not quite awake, Caroline drug her feet down the hall until she reached the bathroom. She didn’t bother trying to brush her hair or turn on the exhaust fan before climbing into the shower. The smell of her strawberry shampoo and coconut body wash soon filled the bathroom. Her strawberry scented conditioner eased the tangles from her messy locks. She climbed out of the shower, feeling refreshed and invigorated by the warmth and the steam. She returned to her room and pulled on a simple pair of shorts, a sports bra, and an over-sized hoodie.
Under normal circumstances, breakfast would have consisted of a bowl of fruit loops, half a grape fruit, and a scrambled egg, but today was much more of a waffle day. After a few minutes in the toaster, two frozen waffles were drowned in syrup and polished off faster than most people could pour a bowl of cereal. The sunlight pouring into her apartment made the conditions unfavorable for sitting around all day but perfect for a day outside. A grin slowly spread across Caroline’s lips as she headed down the hall to her bedroom once again. She changed into a pair of khaki shorts, a sleeveless sport polo, and she slid into her favorite golf shoes.
Grabbing her clubs from the closet and her keys from the counter, she headed out of her apartment and down the stairs, trying not to wake up half the floor as she went. She pushed open the glass door of the apartment building and checked for traffic coming through the parking lot before she crossed over to her car. She opened the trunk of the little white impala and placed her golf bag into the trunk. She headed around to the driver’s side, slid into the car, and cranked the engine. Her favorite golf course was only a few miles from her apartment and she could practically hear it calling her name.
The parking lot of the country course was packed full of cars. The summer weather always attracted tons of people, many of them for the pool, though there were always plenty of the golf course, tennis courts, and soccer fields as well. Caroline headed into the clubhouse and straight into the pro shop. The pro checked her in on the computer, handed her a bag of range balls and a cart key, and smiled politely at her. She headed to the driving range, emptied the small bag onto the grass, and hit the balls with a variety of clubs, making sure that she was well stretched and prepared to play.
The first nine holes played out perfectly normal. Mostly pars, a few bogies, and a birdie on one hole. It was a good round, as most of Caroline’s rounds were, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. She added up the numbers from each hole for a total of 41, marked the number on the card, and then drove towards the tenth tee. The two boys behind her seemed to be playing pretty well based on how close they had been trailing her. She had considered waiting on the tenth tee and allowing them to pass her, but she wasn’t sure if they were going to play all eighteen hole or just the front nine.
She opted to simply continue playing and decided that if they got too close again, she would simply allow them to pass her. She hit an impressive tee shot, climbed back into her golf cart, and headed off down the fairway. She approached her ball and stopped her cart in the fairway, looking ahead to try and gauge her distance from the green. It was then that she heard it. It happened too fast for her brain to process it. One second there was someone yelling “Look out,” and the next second, there was a cart crashing into her own.
“Watch where you’re going, won’t you?” She snapped after being thrown forward by the impact of the carts. She righted herself on the seat of her cart once again and checked her arms for any scrapes. “Sorry, the cart just kept going, even after I hit the brake.” The response was delivered in a thick accent, possibly Irish and a rather apologetic tone. It was far from the snotty prep school accent and obnoxious tone she had anticipated. She turned around to get a good look at the two guys who had been playing behind her. When she turned around, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Sitting in the driver’s side of the golf cart that had collided with her own, staring rather sheepishly at her was none other than Niall Horan.
