When First They Met by Debbie Macomber Page A

picky. Perhaps I am, but I prefer a man who doesn’t have a wife and a couple of children he conveniently forgets to mention until we’re three monthsinto the relationship. Or a guy who doesn’t have enough sense not to lose his entire paycheck on what he is sure is a winning hand. As if a “full house” was a sure thing! It would help, too, if he didn’t live with his mother. That was Lonny, who I met through one of those online dating services. He lied, too.
    Maybe I’m gun-shy. At thirty-eight, I’ve seen most of my friends through the gauntlet. I’ve been a bridesmaid more times than I can count, a godmother at least ten times over, and served as a divorce counselor and shoulder to cry on when the relationships fell apart. I’m not jaded; at least I hope I’m not. I prefer to think that I’m practical and just a bit leery.
    In two words, I have “high standards” and I’m not willing to settle for second or third best. I wanted a man who was honorable and honest. A man who loved God, country, me, and family. A few basics didn’t seem unreasonable. I found it shocking how rare it was to meet a man like that. As a result, I’d basically given up. If I met someone who fit the bill, I’d be thrilled. If not, well, then it just wasn’t meant to be.

    “Would you mind passing this to the guy with the peanuts?”
    Those were the first words Paul Rose ever spoke to me beyond welcome. He handed me a five-dollar bill that I gave to Mr. Anderson, who passed it along to the vendor. The peanut guy hurled the bag, which Paul deftly caught with one hand. His change made its way from the Andersons to me and then to Paul.
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem.”
    “I’m going to get a beer to go with the peanuts when the guy comes by. Would you like one?”
    I blinked and narrowed my eyes. I’d dated a really wonderful guy once who had a drinking problem. You see, this is what happens when you’ve been in the game as long as I have.Over the course of my dating career, I’ve met all kinds. You have to be careful. The guy with the killer eyes was hitting the bottle pretty early in the day.
    “It isn’t a final Jeopardy question,” Paul teased.
    “No thanks.”
    “Later?” he asked.
    I shrugged. I’d watch and see how well he handled his liquor first. If he had more than two or three beers during the course of the game, then, no thanks to that beer or anything else.
    He grinned then and again it was those eyes. I imagined he had women swooning over him the minute he smiled at them. Not me; at least, I wasn’t going to show it. I wasn’t about to be taken in by some fast-talking sailor, although I didn’t think he was navy.
    “You’re military?” Really, it was pretty obvious.
    “Airborne Ranger,” he answered.
    “Stationed out of Fort Lewis?”
    “No, we’re here for the next six weeks for training exercises.”
    I knew as much about the military as I did about quadratic formulas. I could probably work it out but it would take awhile.
    The beer man made his way toward our seats and Paul bought two beers. One for him and one for his buddy. Generosity was a bonus.
    “Hi, I’m Mike,” his buddy leaned over and introduced himself.
    “Jo Marie.”
    “Paul.” He offered me his hand and we shook. His grip was firm but not punishing. “Ignore Mike,” Paul whispered. “I saw you first.”
    I laughed. “Is this a competition?”
    “Nope. I paid for you fair and square.”
    “Paid for me?”
    “Not literally. I bought Mike the beer with the promise I got first crack at you.”
    “What makes you think I’m not married or involved?”
    “I was just hoping. Are you?”
    “What if I said I am?”
    “Then it’s hands off. I wouldn’t want anyone hitting on my girl.”
    I liked his ethics. I have to say he was looking better by the minute.
    Once the game started, I could see he was as keen on the sport as I was. When the referee made a bad call, we both shot to our feet, ready to give the official our