I need to know more. Pronto.

Is she stern? Is she gentle? Is she prompt? Is she nice? Is she annoying? Does she have a secret extra finger?

All things I need to know. Now.

I burst out of the car and meet her face-to-face. Oh man. She's G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S, gorgeous. Her raven black hair grazes her tanned shoulders gently as the wind blows and the sun glows behind her creating an aurora of mysticism. Her posture is impeccable, strong and steady, like some kind of golf warrior goddess.

No wonder Drew's so enamored with her. Puberty must be hitting this boy earlier than we thought.

"Hi," I say, shaking off my initial shock. "I'm Kiersten."

Miss Chloe tilts her head to the side a bit and scrunches her nose. Not in a mean way, just in a curious kind of way. Mr. Purdy's never mentioned me, I guess, but then again why would he.

"Matt's girlfriend."

"Ohhhh," she says and turns to Mr. Purdy. "Your oldest son?"

Mr. Purdy, who was busy taking Marcie out of her car seat, gives her a quick yeah. I can tell he's itching to give her his full attention, but he's got his hands full. Drew sees the opportunity and seizes it.

"He lives with our mother in New Orleans. Far away from her. Far, faaaar away."

I shot Drew a look, which you know, not my proudest moment glaring at a nine year old, but geez, it's going to be hard enough to keep Mr. Purdy away from this Miss Chloe without him interfering.

"New Orleans? No kidding, I grew up around there. About 2 hours west. Youngsville."

Youngsville, eh? I gotta Google that later.

"Oh yeah?" Mr. Purdy says.

He finally breaks Marcie free. She hops out and he kind of scootches her near me without looking down at her. Or Drew or Carrie. That's when the suspicions set in. It's a subtle shift in focus, but it's there.

"How'd you end up here?"

"I went to school here and fell in love. Couldn't imagine ever going back."

Mr. Purdy's face squints. Consider his curiosity peaked.

Now the real test.

"Auburn or Alabama?"

She smirks in anticipation. She knows exactly what she's doing.

"Roll tide, baby."

Mr. Purdy's cheeks, involuntarily I hope, flush and he looks down for a second, I'm guessing to compose himself and conceal his boyish grin.

"That's the right answer."

There's a moment. You know the kind. Drew keeps his eyes on the both of them as this unfolds, rather gleefully I may add.

The moment lingers. The dread sets in as my suspicions heighten. The wheels turning and the questions are churning in Miss Chloe's head. What's his deal? Why is his son so much older than his other kids? Why's his wife in New Orleans? Is she even his wife? Are they together? Separated? Divorced?

She tries to fight it, but she can't resist the urge. Her eyes flicker down to his left ring finger.

What happens next, I can't even believe. My jaw almost drops.

Right as she looks down, Mr. Purdy freaking tucks his hand in his pocket. Not hands. Hand. Singular. The right hand stays right where it is. The left hand though? Straight in the pocket.

Coincidence? I think not.

Mr. Purdy, that sly devil, purposefully hid his wedding band. I'm sure of it.

That's it. I'm calling reinforcement.

💚

As soon as I get back from my babysitting duties, I whip out the group chat (sans Matt) and call for an emergency meeting.

The group assembles faster than a hog at breakfast time. Whitney grabs her laptop and pops it open with the determination of a CIA agent on the hunt for a prolific serial killer. Bridgette and I grab the popcorn.

"Okay, girly, tell me everything you know."

"First Name: Chloe. Hometown: Youngsville, LA. Graduated: The University of Alabama. Occupation: Golf Pro. Place of Employment: Le Chalet Country Club."

"Last name?"

"Shoot, I don't know."

"That's okay," Whitney says, and starts typing like the fury of God. "I can work with that. Bridgette - you check the rosters for Alabama's women's golf teams and I'll check the local newspapers."

"At the risk of getting my head chopped off," Teddy interjects. "Dontcha think you girls are overreacting?"

Whitney glares at Teddy, but doesn't miss a beat.

"We need Kiersten and Matt back together. This is true love we're talking about here."

"Look, I want Matt as much as the rest of y'all, but we're making a big deal outta nothin' here. So, he thinks this Miss Chloe is hot. That don't mean he's gonna step out on his wife."

"Well, how hot is she?" Sal asks.

Eye rolls ensue.

"I don't know, ask Kiersten. She saw her, not me."

"So how do you know she's hot?"

"Mr. Purdy hiding his wedding ring? He hasn't so much looked at another woman since Emily. She's gotta be a smoke show for that to happen."

"Wrap it up, boys. We're seriously getting off-track here." Whitney scolds.

"Got it! Sinclair-Du Pont." Bridgette declares with triumph.

"Are you serious?" Whitney says. "Is she the daughter of a cartoon billionaire?"

"Uh-uh," Bridgette says with a laugh. "I think she's the daughter of a real-life billionaire."

She flips her laptop around in a big reveal.

"This is her house."

Stunned eyes bulge out all around.

"No way."

I snatch the laptop to get a closer look. The place is a freaking mansion. I'm talking giant white columns. I'm talking front porch twice the size of my house. I'm talking cherub fountains. I'm talking green gardens with perfectly trimmed and intricately complex landscaping. I'm talking vintage Rolls Royce in the driveway.

"Is this real? How did you find this?"

"Easy. After I had her last name, I Googled her full name and a ton, and I mean a ton, of articles popped up all about her golf career. Her father's name was hyperlinked, so obviously, I clicked on that. He's like some big-time investment banker in her hometown and owns like, a millions properties there. I searched his properties and clicked through until I found their "estate," Bridgette says with a fancy rich people accent for a bit of flair.

"But get this," she says, excitedly revving herself up.

"That's not even the crazy part. Go back a page and read the 3rd paragraph. I dare ya."

I do as she says, a little confused at how it could possibly get any crazier than a mansion, but boy, I am wrong. When I tell you it gets crazy, it gets crazy.

"...after discovering her love of golf at the age of 10, it was clear that Chloe Sinclair-Du Pont had a gift. A gift that could not be ignored by her adoring father, Rich Du Pont. He'd do anything to support dreams, including most recently BUYING HER OWN COUNTRY CLUB!"

"You have got to be kidding me," I say in absolute disbelief.

"Go ahead, keep reading."

"Although she hung up her clubs professionally 7 years ago, Sinclair-Du Pont still follows her passion teaching the next generation of golf stars at the Le Chalet."

Omg. OMG.

Miss Chloe doesn't work as a golf instructor at that country club. She freaking owns the place.

That's it. Pack it up. We're cooked.