Chapter 2: The Kiss She Begged For

For three days, I trained like a mad woman. Every time I missed, I heard his voice: "Win it. Then we will talk."Kwame was extra strict. "Focus, Adjoa!"

During training, he would correct my waist, my follow-through. I would whisper, "Coach..." "Not now. Swing." "Please..." "Adjoa!" He would step back, smiling despite himself. "You are distracting yourself. Play."

"I can't concentrate," I confessed one afternoon when we were alone on the green. "Because you won't kiss me. I keep begging in my mind."He looked around. Nobody was watching."Adjoa, do you really want this?" "Yes," I said. "I have liked you since you told me I hold my club like a handbag." He sighed, took off his cap.

"Come here."I stepped closer. My heart was about to explode.He cupped my face gently and finally kissed me. It was soft, short, but it was everything. All the weeks of tension, of him correcting my swing, of the car in the rain.I held his shirt. "Finally," I whispered.

"You earned that one," he said. "Now earn the trophy on Saturday."On Saturday, I won the Ghana Open. 2 strokes.I ran straight to him in front of everyone — my parents who flew in from London, Auntie Esi, all the club members.

He hugged me tight and kissed my forehead. Auntie Esi shouted, "Eii, Coach Kwame! So this is what you were doing!" Everyone laughed. Kwame laughed too and said, "Auntie, she won first. That's the rule I gave her."

*[END OF CHAPTER 2]*