“Hey, Syn!”

I looked up from my practice putt and saw the club’s pro walking towards me.

Beston Cliffs was a new private country club where John Prine was the sufficiently arrogant head pro.

“What’s up, John?” I asked semi-annoyed at having my warm-up routine interrupted.

I was playing as a single that cool February morning and I expected he was about to stick me with three other golfers to make a foursome.

Most wouldn’t mind it, but a twenty-six-year-old blonde woman doesn’t get much respect from the old-timers. What’s worse is when they spend the entire round trying to get into my shorts.

“Syn, if you don’t mind, I have a threesome for you to join,” he said, too amused with his sexual innuendo.

I wanted to knock the smirk off of his lips with my putter. I might have, but it was my favorite.

“Sure, John. Still a 6:50 tee time?”

“Yeah, they’re coming up behind you. Have a good round.”

I nodded and turned around to see what I was dealing with. It looked like three generations of money, with a father, son, and grandfather, all strolling up in the latest golf fashions.

“Hello, young lady,” said gramps. “I’m Bob Miller and these are my son and grandson, Bob and Bobby.”

“Good Morning, I’m Synclare James. Syn for short.”

I shook their hands and had to hide my amusement at them all being named Bob. At least I wouldn’t forget a name.

“Do you mind if we ride? My old legs just aren’t what they used to be,” gramps asked.

I hated riding in a cart. Much of the reason I still played was to get a walk-in. It was not going to be a fun time.

“Sure.”

“Great. Why don’t you ride with Bobby, there? You kids will have more to talk about than us geezers.”

I have to admit, gramps had some charisma and was growing on me. The others deferred to him and didn’t say much, so I had no idea what to make of them.

As I packed up my clubs, they walked over to their carts. My cart partner pulled a leather cigar case from his bag and was about to light up when I sat in the passenger seat.

“Isn’t it proper etiquette to offer your cart partner one of those?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said, “obviously, I made an incorrect assumption. Would you like a cigar?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said taking the cigar from him.

He offered to light it for me and I glared at him.

He started laughing and said, “You’re absolutely right. Lighting a cigar is a personal experience. I’m going to try to stop embarrassing myself now.”

He handed me his torch and I toasted the foot, taking care to light it evenly. It was a Cohiba and as far as I could tell a legit Cuban, so I made certain to light it properly and enjoy it.

My grandfather and I smoked cigars together from my eighteenth birthday until the day before he died. He was a cigar nut and some of my favorite memories are of us sitting in his den, smoking and talking.

“It’s Cuban,” Bobby said as I puffed the warm, creamy smoke.

“Yeah, that’s what it says on the label.”

I didn’t know what to make of the guy. He seemed nervous, but I could pick out hints of self-confidence. I figured he was just flustered, not knowing what to make of me either.

I was a tall, lanky, blonde who probably looked more at home on a runway than on a golf course. I was always a tomboy and even though I could’ve gone into modeling, I chose golf.

My mother was a model in the ‘80s and early ‘90s, who made herself a nice career until she gave it up to have me and my brother, Xander.

“So, Synclare, before I embarrass myself by thinking you can’t play, what’s your handicap?”

“Please call me Syn. My full name drives me nuts.”

“Okay. Syn, it is,” he said with a cute smirk. “Syn, what’s your handicap?”

“Scratch.”

“Really?” He said with a wide smile.

I blew smoke in his face and said, “Is it hard to believe or something?”

“No, it’s just—fuck, I’ve really come across as an ass this morning, haven’t I? Look, I’m sorry for generalizing and assuming.”

“Don’t worry about it, Trey. I’m used to it.”

“Trey?” He asked.

“Yeah, you’re the third Bob I met today.”

He laughed and said, “Fair enough. Just don’t call my dad by a nickname. He’s pretty uptight.”

I grinned with some mischief in my eyes, which he noticed.

“Seriously. He’s pretty stuck up. Don’t push it with him. It’ll make our day worse.”

“Okay, calling him Deuce is out.”

He laughed and said, “Syn, we play for skins and it can get pretty competitive. Do you want in?”

His smile led me to believe he really wanted his dad and gramps to lose some money. I usually don’t play for money, but I thought Trey was cute and figured, what the hell.

“Sure. I’m in. How much?”

“Hundred a hole is what we normally do.”

I think he was about to make an assumption again but caught himself.

Each hole or “skin” being worth a hundred bucks meant a potential eighteen-hundred dollars from each of them. It would be a very profitable morning for me.

“That’s fine. I assume you guys are good?”

“Dad and grandfather’s handicaps are both under ten. I’m a bogey golfer.”

Handicaps roughly mean how close to par you average. Par means you make the ball in the hole in the standard number of shots. A par four hole means a scratch golfer finish in four shots or “strokes.” The course we were playing is a par 72, meaning a scratch golfer should average 72.

Trey being a bogey golfer, should score 90, while the other guys should score under 82. It would be an easy day for me.

As we pulled up to the first tee, they said that they tee off by age and I was fine with that. Gramps would go first, then Bob and I assumed Trey, who I thought was older than I.

“She’s good with the skins,” Trey said, as both older men looked stunned.

“Okay,” gramps said, and they walked to the tee box.

They all took their first shots and were nicely straight and in the middle of the fairway. I walked forward to take my turn and noticed they were all walking towards the carts. The etiquette is that you wait for the last player to hit their shot before you walk away.

They must have assumed I was going to play from the ladies tees. That annoyed me and I decided to show them no mercy.

I hit my drive while they had their backs turned to me and crushed it. I outdrove their farthest ball by twenty yards. I bent over to pick up my tee and walked back to the cart without saying a word.

Trey smiled as he sat down behind the wheel and puffed on his cigar.

“This is going to be fun,” he said.

The first hole was four-hundred and twenty yards long. My drive was about two-sixty, leaving me a nice one-sixty to the hole. I was in excellent shape.

Trey was the farthest away, so he shot first and sliced it right of the hole. The older men both hit onto the green, leaving long putts. I hit a high fade that curled slightly past the hole and stopped about ten feet away.

Trey showed that he had a decent short game by chipping it onto the green about three feet away. The older generations, took two putts each so each of them made par.

I had a fairly straight birdie putt and made it without much stress to win the skin. It was an easy $300.

I caught Trey looking at my ass as I bent over to get my ball from the hole. Gramps shook his head as he put the flagstick back and said, “Damn, Synclare. That was a hell of a hole.”

“I was just lucky,” I said as I walked away.

I took a puff of my cigar as Trey sat down and handed me a beer.

“Nice hole, Syn.”

“It was okay. I’m lucky the greens are soft today. That could’ve ended up a much longer putt.”

It had rained the night before. Conditions on the course were nice though. I knew it would play well that day and add to my advantage.

“So, do you have big plans for tonight?” He asked.

I had forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day.

“No. Just another Sunday night for me.”

“Oh? No date?”

I shrugged my shoulders and hoped he’d get the hint to let it go. I’d broken up with my gold-digger boyfriend at Christmas when he embarrassed himself by proposing to me.

There was no way I was ever going to marry him. He was with me solely for my looks and my family’s money. I knew it from the start and I had fun with him. He was great in bed, but great sex does not make a great relationship.

Trey was looking at me, expecting me to say something. He was good looking enough, not Chris Helmsworth by any stretch, but more like a handsome accountant. He was in shape, slightly taller than my 5’ 10”, and had shaggy brown hair.

As he waited I blew the smoke out of my mouth and took a chug of the Heineken.

“I suppose Mrs. Trey has a nice night ahead of her?”

“Nope,” he said, “I’m unattached at the moment. Well for the last few years I guess, but that’s a story for another time.”

After playing five holes and drinking three beers, I was warming up. My scorecard had me -5 and having won the first five skins. That was a cool $1500.

Number six was a par three and it was very short at 140 yards. It had water behind it though and it had sand on the sides. It took a well-played shot to make par.

I played first and hit a nice shot into the center of the green that was less than ten feet from the hole. Gramps hit the water, Trey sliced into the rough about thirty yards to the right, and his dad was about a foot in front of my ball. I made my birdie put and deuce missed his giving me another skin. I could tell gramps and deuce were getting pissed, while Trey was loving it.

I made par on the next three holes and deuce tied me on all three. That meant that the tenth hole was worth four skins or four-hundred bucks a person.

The men were pretty quiet for that three-hole stretch. I guess they were trying to put game faces on or something, I was amused and catching a nice buzz from Trey’s beer.

They wanted to take a break after the ninth hole, so we stopped and they each had a hot dog and a beer. I ate one of my protein bars and added up my scores.

“Six under through the first nine holes is pretty damn good, young lady. You should hit the Pro Tour,” Deuce said.

“Been there, done that, and never even got a t-shirt,” I said.

“Wow, well you’re certainly good enough. What happened?” Trey asked.

“I didn’t like being on the road all of the time. It stopped being fun and became a job. When I started playing golf, I enjoyed the game. Throughout high school and college, it was a blast but the tour was not. My business took off as well, so I chose to leave the tour and grow my company.”

“All least you had those experiences,” said Trey. “You must have a hundred great stories.”

Before I could respond, gramps said, “Let’s get on out there. We’re burning sunshine.”

Trey shook his head and said, “Want another smoke?”

I smiled and said, “Yeah and I’ll get us some more beer.”

When we ended the day, I won all eighteen skins and Deuce only broke one club in anger.

Gramps walked over and said, “Synclare? Would you like to join us for a drink while we settle up?”

“Sure,” I said. I certainly didn’t need another drink after the amount of beer I had while playing, but I wanted to get paid.

I sat as the men begrudgingly wrote me checks. Trey was smiling the whole time. He was too amused by his elders losing. I suspected that he wrote them a lot of checks.

Trey handed me his and it was several hundred too high.

“Trey it’s too much...”

“Birdies double the skin. I thought you knew that,” he said.

“Oh, I assumed when you didn’t mention it that you didn’t play that way. Hell, I would’ve tried harder on that eagle put if I’d known it was worth a triple skin.”

He laughed and the elder gents grumbled, so I collected my winnings, said goodbye, and made my way into the locker room.

They were an interesting group. The older men were very competitive, while Trey seemed happy to just drink and smoke. After taking the first few holes, there was very little conversation with me.

I changed my shoes and put my clubs away, the whole time thinking of Trey. I didn’t think much about it on the course, but I realized I was attracted to him. I regretted not flirting with him. I at least could’ve used the opening he gave me about the lack of a Valentine’s Day date. Oh well. Maybe I’d see him again sometime.

I walked out into the hallway and found Trey leaning against the wall.

“Hey, Syn. I was wondering if you would like to have dinner tonight?”

I kept walking to make him follow me and said, “You want our first date to be on Valentine’s Day, huh? That’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “We could go to a little spot I know that we’ll have no problem getting into.”

“Okay, bogey. Give me your phone.”

I typed in my number and called it.

“I’ll text you my address later. Pick me up at six.”

He chuckled and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

I don’t think he was used to a girl as straight-forward as I was. I was certainly not the submissive type, waiting for a man to guide me.

I got into my car and watched him do a little fist pump as he walked away. I smiled and was glad he was so excited about getting a date with me.

I stopped at my parents’ house for lunch on the way home. We always had lunch on Sunday, it was my mother’s way of staying in touch with me and seeing Xander’s kids regularly.

I admit I wouldn’t be home much if not for the forced weekly luncheon.

My parents were hard for me to handle. My dad spoiled me and went out of his way to dote on me constantly and my mother nagged me about getting married and giving her more grandchildren. She about had a stroke when I declined Jason’s marriage proposal.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved them to death, but Dad’s clinging and Mom’s nagging wore on me.

Walking into the sitting room I found my dad rolling on the floor with little Alex and my mother cooing to the baby, Bella. My brother was talking to his wife, Christie, about some trip they were planning.

“Hi, guys,” I said plopping down on the sofa next to my mother.

“Ew, you reek of cigars,” she said.

“I’m starving, what’s for lunch,” I said ignoring her complaint.

“Auntie Syn!” Alex screamed as he ran to me and jumped onto my lap.

“What’s up, Alex? How’s my favorite nephew?”

“Hungry.”

We all laughed and Mom said, “Let’s eat then. I ordered pastrami sandwiches and potato salad from Sal’s.”

Sal’s New York Delicatessen was our favorite deli. It was the only real deli within fifty miles, but it was still amazing.

“How’d you play today?” Xander asked.

“The usual. I got hooked up with a generational threesome.”

“Ooh, grandfather, father, and son?” My dad asked.

I nodded after taking an unladylike bite of my sandwich.

Xander laughed and asked, “How bad was it for them?”

“A lot. They played a hundred a skin.”

Dad whistled and said, “Did you let them win any?”

I shook my head no and Christie fist-bumped me.

“Honey, you shouldn’t take advantage of people like that,” my mom chastised.

“They couldn’t have been too mad, I got a date out of it?”

My mom perked up.

Dad said, “Really? With the grandfather?”

“Steven!” Mom shrieked.

I laughed and threw a wadded up napkin at him. That made Alex start throwing things and Mom struggled to get us under control before the food started flying.

We were relaxing in the sitting room as Mom pestered me for information on Trey.

“What’s his family name? Do we know them?”

“They are members at Beston but I don’t know if you know them. Gramps is Bob Miller.”

“Wow! You’re going out with Bobby Miller?” Christie asked. “I know his mother from the club. They are very wealthy but seem like nice people.”

“Seemed so, anyway. Time will tell,” I said.

“How’d this all come about?” Mom asked.

“He plied me with Heineken and Cohiba Behike’s.”

Xander laughed and said, “At least he has good taste in cigars.”

I forgot to text Trey my address, so I did it as I left my parents. I was shocked when fifteen minutes later I arrived home to find two dozen roses sitting on my porch.

The card read, “I was afraid you’d changed your mind. Here’s a deal sweetener, for the sweet.”

I didn’t think my address was listed anywhere, so I’d have to ask him about that.

“They are lovely,” I texted to him. I saw I had a couple of hours to get ready so I resisted the urge to google him and started a bath.

I was shocked when he said he could get us a table, but it became clear why when we walked into the restaurant.

The hostess, upon seeing him, dropped what she was doing and rushed up to us.

“Mr. Miller, everything is as you requested. Please follow me.”

As we walked through the jam-packed restaurant, waiters and servers nodded hello to him. I wondered how often he ate there, being given that kind of treatment.

My surprise continued as we were led into the kitchen. There was an alcove with a half-circle booth built into it and it had a bottle of champagne chilling and a platter of oysters waiting.

“Thank you, Jenny, it’s perfect,” he said as the hostess beamed and walked away.

“I have to say, Trey, I’ve always thought that seats by the kitchen were the worst in the house.”

He laughed and said, “Not here. This is the best table in the house. The executive chef Andre, will serve our meal himself.”

I was impressed as I ate one of the yummy oysters.

“I’m glad you waited for me this morning,” I said. “As I was leaving I regretted not flirting with you to see if you were interested.”

“Oh, I was interested,” he said. “How could I not be. You’re very beautiful.”

“Aw, thank you,” I said. “So, what does Bobby the Trey do when he’s not golfing?”

He smirked and said, “I own a couple of restaurants.”

“That explains a lot,” I said. “I suppose this is one of them?”

“Yeah, this is the one that got the two Michelin Stars.”

“Well, consider me suitably impressed.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but Andre wanted to fix us something outside of the menu tonight. I have no idea what it will be.”

“I’m in your hands, sir,” I said.

“What do you do, when you aren’t hustling old men on the golf course?”

“I own a staffing agency. I specialize in the medical field. Home nursing, medical centers, things like that.”

“This is a popular area for retired folks. I could see that being a real need,” he said.

“I thought so and we’re very busy.”

Our second course came and it smelled amazing. It was French onion soup, one of my favorites.

“You mentioned that you hated the Pro Tour, how long did you play?”

I hated talking about those times, but once people knew, it always came up.

“Three years, and no offense, Trey, but let me answer the rest of your inevitable questions. I won almost two-hundred thousand total. My best finish was 8th. Yes, there are lesbians, no I’m not one of them. No, we can’t win on the men’s tour—yet. Finally, yes if I wanted to, I could make it again and probably get back to where I was before or better.”

He laughed and said, “I’m sorry. I won’t pry into that part of your past again.”

He ate some of the excellent soup and said, “Actually, just one more fan-boy question.”

“Okay. The last one,” I said with a forced smile.

“What’s Tiger Woods like?”

That made me laugh. I’d never been asked that one before since I wasn’t on the men’s tour. He smiled and I knew then that he was being sarcastic.

“Actually, smart ass, I did meet him a few times and each time he acted like a normal guy.”

“So he tried to get in your panties?”

I almost spit up my soup when he said that.

“No, actually, he didn’t.”

We laughed as the bowls were taken and glasses of white wine were set down.

“I’m very glad you asked me out, Trey. I wasn’t looking forward to a solo Valentine pity party of ice cream, brownies, and Rom-Com’s.”

“I know what you mean. Honestly, I’d be right here, except I’d be working out front.”

I hoped he didn’t have to call someone in to cover for him.

The next course was served and it was a lovely tuna tartare. It seemed like much more than a normal dinner and I asked, “Just how many courses are we having, Andre?”

He smiled and said, “Seven, ma’am. Your dinner course will be the meal I cooked to win on The Food Channel.”

He rushed off and Trey said, “He was on a show called ‘Best Billy French’.”

“Wow!” I said, impressed. “I’ve eaten at his restaurant in Vegas. It was awesome.”

“Yeah, Andre made Steak Au Poivre and beat him. Now I’m really excited for dinner.”

We ate through the rest of the amazing meal and I lost count of how many glasses of wine I had. Finally, Andre brought us a cup of espresso and said, “Thank you for indulging in my fun this evening. It was my pleasure to cook for you.”

“Thank you, Andre. Everything was perfect,” Trey said.

The chef looked towards me and stuck out his hand. I shook it and said, “Andre, could we have one more thing?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’m at your service.”

“Could you bring us a bottle of Dow’s Special Label Vintage Port? Trey, it’s on me.”

He smiled and nodded, then rushed away. “Syn?”

“Yes, Trey?”

“How did you know we have that extremely expensive wine?”

“I’ve been here before and I’ve seen the wine list.”

He laughed and then Andre returned and was about to open it. I stopped him and said, “We’ll take it to go.”

He smiled and said, “As you wish, Ma’am. Have a lovely evening.”

As Trey started the car he said, “It seems you have a plan for the next part of our Valentine’s Day or did you plan on saving that Port?”

“Nope. I have a plan. It’s a cool night but not cold, so I thought we could sit out by my fire pit and get to know one another better.”

He smiled and said, “I can’t think of a better way to end a night.”

“You know, I only have this Port on the wine list because I was going after an award from a wine magazine. I never expected anyone to buy it,” Trey said as he sipped the over-priced wine.

“It is pretty pretentious to order something like this in a restaurant. I was surprised you had it. I figured it was just for show on your wine list.”

“It sort of is, but to get the award we had to have all of the wines in our cellar.”

I took a drink of it and it was really good. I’d never normally spend money like that but I suppose I was trying to show off for some reason. I knew I didn’t have to because he was wealthy himself, heck maybe I did it because I was feeling drunk from the two bottles of wine we drank at dinner.

As I think about it, I drank most of the wine. The cost didn’t matter to me. It was paid for with the money I took off of him and his elders on the golf course anyway.

“You’re an interesting woman, Syn. In case you weren’t sure, I’d like to see you again after tonight.”

“I’d like that, although I’m not sure how interesting I am. Beyond my golf skill, I’m pretty much a get-up, go to work, and come home, type of person.”

“Oh, somehow I doubt that. Tell me about yourself, I know that you own your own successful business, you’re way better at golf than I’ll ever be, you appreciate a good meal, and you let strange men at the club pick you up.”

I laughed and said, “No, you’re the first one. There’s not much to tell. Normally, I would hide my family’s wealth from a first date, but from what my sister-in-law told me, your family is probably wealthier.”

“Well, that’s dad and grandfather. I’ll inherit some, to be sure, but aside from some start-up money I borrowed from my father, I’m self-made. It’s extremely important to me to be able to make it on my own.”

I nodded in acceptance. I understood wanting to make it on one’s own.

“I’m glad to hear that. I also leveraged some of my father’s money to start my company, but I’ve paid it back and I’m pretty proud of that.”

He reached over his glass and we toasted to our independence.

“Well, keep going,” he said.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m the youngest of two children who were given odd names by a rather eccentric woman.”

“Your mother?”

I nodded.

“She was a model and—well, let’s just say if there was such a thing as a hippie in the 80’s, she would’ve been their poster child. She not only named me Synclare, but she also used an unusual spelling. My brother was named Xander. Not Alexander mind you, just Xander.”

“I think I’ve met your brother. Xander James right?”

I nodded and walked through my back door to get two cigars.

I handed him a cigar and cutter. He smiled as he looked at the label.

“I should’ve known,” he said. “That was a pretty powerful cigar this morning and you smoked it like a pro.”

“My grandfather used to smoke with me. He loved relaxing and talking with me for hours. I miss those times.”

“I bet. So you’re the product of hippies, and need to be in control of your destiny, what else makes you tick?”

I laughed and said, “My dad is the polar opposite of my mother. He was the CEO of Dynatech when they met.”

“Oh wow! That means your dad is Steven James. I’ve read his books.”

“Be sure to tell him that. He’ll get a big ego boost. He thought he would have a second life as a motivational speaker but it never took off as he wanted.”

He nodded and took a long puff from his cigar.

“Enough about me, Bobby the Trey. What’s your story?”

“Well, for starters I’m not Robert the third. I’m Robert the fourth, but I intend to end that. I’d like my children to have their own identities and I’d like to keep them out of the shadow of my family’s money.”

“I like that,” I said.

“Mm-hm, anyway, I always loved to cook. I went to culinary school and ended up a chef at a nice restaurant for a few years. I was married at the time and the long hours and never taking time off wore on her. We split up amicably enough, and shortly after I decided that I’d control my own life. I opened my first restaurant and was lucky. We were very successful, so I opened a second one. That’s where we ate tonight.”

“It was amazing food. I can see why it’s so successful.”

“Well, it’s not that successful yet. My first restaurant, the steakhouse, makes loads more than my second one. I wanted a fine dining experience for my newer one. Our meals are very expensive and it’s not meant for everyone to be able to afford to eat there. I wanted it to be very upper crust and exclusive.”

I thought that was odd. Our area has a small pocket of wealthy people, but most of the area is made up of retirees.

“My grandfather has an investment brokerage firm. He wanted to be the next Merrill Lynch when he started it, but he became happy in the middle of the pack. My father is his number one man there and they are grooming my younger brother to join them.”

“Any other siblings?” I asked.

“No. Just me and Richard. He’s away at Stanford.”

“Very nice.”

“We’ll see. I think he’s a bit of a flake, but my father and grandfather think the world of him.” I set the last bit of my cigar in the ashtray and Trey smoked one last puff.

“It’s late, Trey. I’ve got to be up for work pretty early.”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you mind if I leave my car here? I’ve had a bit too much to drink and I’d like to Uber home.”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

As we sat on the front porch waiting for his ride, we kissed. Nothing to set the world on fire but nice. We were so lost in each other, we didn’t notice the Uber until he honked his horn. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you for the lovely evening. You were the perfect Valentine,” I said as I kissed him once more.

As he walked away he turned and blew me a final kiss. I felt like I never had before and I liked it.

We spoke every night that week. He worked evenings, bouncing between his restaurants, so I couldn’t see him until Saturday.

Our conversations were long and easy. We had a lot in common and that became more clear as we talked about the boring details of our lives. We liked Country music, preferred Sean Connery as Bond, we both played guitar, and we both wanted children.

The following Saturday, I was waiting for my tee-time on the driving range. It was 6:30 AM and because Trey was at the restaurant until after midnight, I didn’t ask him to join me. I was enjoying hitting golf balls and not paying attention to anyone around me when I smelled cigar smoke. I turned and saw Trey sitting at a table with a Bloody Mary.

“Good Morning,” he said, as I walked over. “I didn’t want to bother you. You looked like you were in the zone.”

“I figured you’d be sleeping in,” I said.

“Nope. I was hoping you’d play this morning and wanted to surprise you.”