When First They Met by Debbie Macomber Page B

opinion about his eyesight problem. Pete Carroll, the Seahawks head coach, must have heard us because he immediately threw in the red flag, challenging the penalty. It took several minutes while the replay ran on the huge jumbo screen. It seemed the rest of the stadium agreed with us as well. By all that was fair, the penalty was reversed.
    As if the two of us were personally responsible, Paul turned to me and I turned to him and we high-fived it. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I should have known then that my heart was doomed.
    The Seahawks won the game, thanks in part to the reversal of that penalty. Whether we could claim any credit for that or not, Paul and I were convinced we’d saved the game.
    I did my best to play the hostess with the Andersons, but they were enjoying the game all on their own without any help from me.
    As people started to exit the stadium, the Andersons turned to thank me once again. Paul stood behind me.
    “Will you let me buy you that beer now?” he asked.
    I hesitated, pondering if accepting his invitation was the right decision or not. He’d already told me he would be in the Seattle area for only a few weeks. I’ve had friends who’d struggled with long-distance relationships, and frankly, I just wasn’t sure it was the wisest thing in the world to get involved with a guy in the military.
    Even now I’m not sure what made me say yes. Then again, maybe I am. I’d been drawn to Paul the moment I laid eyes on him. Deep down I had the feeling I’d regret walking away and so I accepted his invitation.
    If I had drawn up a list of the qualities I sought out most in a guy and labeled it from one to one hundred, Paul would have easily scored a ninety-nine.
    “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have that beer.”
    We started to walk toward a local sports bar with Mike.
    “I’ll catch a ride back to base with Jeremy,” Mike said and waved us off.
    “What if he doesn’t connect with this other guy?” I asked, concerned that Mike might be stranded.
    “Not to worry, he already set it up.”
    “And exactly when did he do that?”
    Paul chuckled. “Early on.”
    That was interesting. “Hmm … were you that sure of yourself?”
    “No,” he admitted, “but I was hopeful.”

    We sat in the sports bar with the huge flat screen and watched the interviews with the players and the coach. We’d already discovered that we were both big football fans, so we started off talking about our favorite players and teams. I knew quite a bit about the Seahawks, seeing that I’d been following them since I was barely old enough to understand the game.
    “Did you know the average player is only in the league three point two years?” I asked him.
    “You mean other than the quarterback?”
    “Don’t forget the kicker. They tend to last longer.”
    “Right.” He seemed impressed I knew as much about the game as I did.
    “Do you like Mexican food?” he asked.
    “I do. Cheese enchiladas are my favorite.”
    His eyes rounded. “Mine, too.”
    “What about Chinese food?” I asked.
    “Love it.”
    “Your favorite dish?”
    He hesitated. “I tend to enjoy the spicy food the best. If I had to choose, I’d say Szechuan chicken.”
    Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Mine, too.” This was getting spooky. I reached for a napkin, dug a pen out of my purse, and started writing.
    “What are you doing?” Paul asked.
    “Okay, I’m going to ask you a question, and when you answer I’m going to show you my answer and see if they match.”
    “Okay, ask away.”
    “Your favorite author?” This was an important question. I’d dated men who had never read a book. Reading was a passion of mine and I couldn’t imagine being involved with someone who didn’t understand the importance of books and stories.
    This seemed to be a difficult question. “Male or female?”
    “Male.” I assumed that would be easier to answer.
    “Pat Conroy.”
    My mouth sagged open. I turned the napkin around and