James continued swinging, with the motion of each swing becoming sharper and more controlled than the last.
Mr. Donovan remained silent for the most part, offering the occasional correction — a shift in foot placement, a tweak in grip, a reminder to let the swing breathe.
But when James delivered his cleanest shot yet — a smooth, rhythmic arc that sent the ball sailing far and straight — Donovan raised a hand.
"That's enough," he said calmly.
James lowered the club, panting lightly. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his temples.
"Pack your things," Donovan said, turning without waiting. "Let's talk."
He started walking back toward the shaded patio without another word, and James quickly shouldered his golf bag and followed, falling into step beside him.
"You've never played before," he said. It wasn't a question.
James nodded.
"Today was my first real try."
Mr Donovan didn't say anything in acknowledgement to James' skills as a first timer.
