When First They Met by Debbie Macomber

When First They Met
    I’ve always been a big football enthusiast. Okay, the truth? I’m a bit of a football fanatic. I blame my dad for that. One year my mother had to hold up Thanksgiving dinner for our entire extended family because my dad and two of my uncles were immersed in a football game.
    Dad’s gaze remained fixed on the television screen. “Hold your horses, the game has only two minutes left.” The turkey was dry and the mashed potatoes grew cold because those “two minutes” turned into something like thirty-three minutes. Mom was counting.
    My mother never got into football the way my brother, Todd, and I did. Growing up in Spokane, the Seahawks were our team. After I moved to Seattle, when Columbia Bank transferred me to the Denny Way branch, I bought my dad a couple of Seahawk tickets every year for Christmas. Which was actually pretty self-serving because Mom couldn’t have cared less, so Dad would take me instead. I bonded with my father over football. It seemed like we could talk about anything while munching on peanuts and shouting out advice to the refs and coaches.
    You can imagine my excitement when three tickets became available through the bank where I’m the account manager and junior vice president. I leaped at the opportunity to take two of our clients. Little did I know then that this particular football game would forever change my life.
    The bank had several season tickets in prime locations. The Andersons, Lou and Helen, were a nice, middle-aged couple with three grown children. Mr. Anderson owned a long-haul trucking company and did all his banking with us, and we wanted him to know that we appreciated his business.
    As planned, I met the Andersons outside of CenturyLink Field so we could walk into the stadium together. The tickets were on the fifty-yard line, about fifteen rows up from the field. I settled into my seat and noticed the two men next to me, who were obviously military. With FortLewis, the Bremerton shipyard, Naval Station Everett, and McCord Air Force Base all located within the Puget Sound region, it wasn’t unusual to run into someone serving in the military.
    The first thing I noticed about the guy to my immediate left was his eyes. He turned and glanced in my direction when I came into the row. Blue eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for men with blue eyes.
    Afraid I might be staring, I quickly looked away. Blue eyes didn’t. In fact, he seemed to have his gaze fixed on me. I made a show of checking my ticket to be sure I was in the correct row and seat. I was, and I was right next to the man with the striking blue eyes.
    “Welcome,” he said as soon as I sat down, saluting me with his coffee.
    “Thanks.” I settled into my seat. Now, there are blue eyes and then there are really blue eyes. His looked like the waters of the Caribbean—almost turquoise. His gaze held mine and I felt jarred, as if someone had bumped into me from behind. I swallowed hard, because right then, at that very moment, I knew this man could be real trouble. A good kind of trouble. Red lights immediately started flashing.
    I quickly looked away. To be clear, I’m over thirty, well over thirty, and didn’t hold out any hope of finding the right man. I’d been through the mill when it came to men and relationships. I’ve been in love a couple of times, or I thought I had, and both relationships ended poorly. The first man of my dreams, Ben, had a problem. A rather big problem as it turned out. He was married. Separated but still married. No thanks.
    As soon as I found out, I suggested Ben not contact me again until he was single. He never did.
    My second love had a bit of a gambling problem. I could see the handwriting on the wall with Dean when I ended up paying for our last three dates because he’d lost money on the horses and at a friendly poker game, and had an overdue rent bill. I’d extracted myself before my heart was seriously involved.
    My mother’s convinced I’m far too