by K. P. Haigh
Seattle made me uncomfortable because I didn't like it, and I didn’t fit. Because I got up close and personal with that feeling, I can pin the tail on the donkey when it comes to knowing the difference between temporary fear and true dislike.
I open my browser and type in the address for my email client, waiting an eternity for it to load. It took me at least half a year to stop biting my nails like a drug addict waiting for a fix every time I'd travel someplace with crappy Internet—which, flash alert, is most places. Now, it just makes me smile, and I always appreciate my broadband when I get back home.
Well, back to the States. Home is more of a fluid concept these days.
Shortly after his injury, Baron moved back in with his mom, selling his condo in Seattle. We each live with our respective families, but we travel so often together, it feels more like a smart arrangement than anything else.
Work keeps me busy most of the time. I decided to forgo a full-time offer with Collins Aid United; instead they throw me contracts at least every couple months, and I intersperse other gigs in between for travel photography or just plain travel.
My Instagram feed is killer—doesn't hurt that I have a hunk of a boyfriend who makes frequent appearances.
I can tell he misses football sometimes, but he's really settling into his new life these days. When he doesn't ride shotgun with me, he's at home gradually building up a custom furniture business. It's slow, but he uses our travel for research. He finds inspiration everywhere, and the pieces he's dreaming up are incredible.
Plus, the man has honed his radar for expats that enjoy sports. He finds them in bars and coffee shops and hostels like ants to sugar water. He gets to talk shop; I get to read. Everyone wins.
Aha! My email finally loads, and I see Andie's name at the top of my inbox with the subject Karma is a Bitch.
I click to open the email and it takes forever to load the half dozen images, but I start to read the text of Andie’s note at the top.
She couldn't hide under that fake smile forever. Glad to see she got what was coming to her…and then some. Hope you and Mr. Sportsball are loving Thailand. Go hug an elephant for me, k?
There's a long article below, detailing the scandal of a star quarterback and his philandering wife. Turns out, Rochelle was getting some quality time with a young star of a boy band while her husband was busy taking the team all the way to the playoffs. The paparazzi got a nice close-up of Rochelle sucking face with the pop star, and then looking very surprised to have gotten caught.
Part of me feels giddy. The other part remembers what it was like to have a reporter come after me, and for a second, I feel sorry for her—just for a second. Then I go right back to feeling justified.
You can't go around messing with other people's lives and expect them to stay out of yours.
I shut my laptop down just as Baron walks in, rubbing a towel through his hair after getting back from the beach. He plops down next to me on the couch and presses his nose into my neck. He's still damp from the water, and I can smell the salt on his skin. He nuzzles me, and it's like a puppy is sitting next to me. The feeling sends an image rushing across my brain like Paul Revere: Baron and me snuggled up on a couch we actually own with a puppy we adopted together. Puppies mean responsibility, which means staying in one place longer than two weeks.
The image doesn't send shivers of anxiety down my spine—quite the opposite. It sends shivers of anticipation. I know I'll get tired of traveling constantly. After being on the go for a year, I realize this is a phase of life more than it is a life. The frequency will wane eventually. It may not ever go away completely, and I kind of hope I always have a plane ticket booked to somewhere, but I won't say no to roots either. I can appreciate both, just as I can appreciate that we may want to let those roots grow a family…or not. It's something we'll decide when we get there.
Baron nuzzles me with a low hum that vibrates against my skin, and I lean into him, relishing the feeling.
"Want to go out for dinner tonight?" he asks nonchalantly.
"Sure, what were you thinking?"
"There's this place I noticed a while back…thought maybe we could try it."
Thirty minutes later, we walk up to a place called TJs, and I give Baron the side eye. We're in the middle of Thailand, home of what might be one of my favorite types of cuisine in the whole entire world, and we're standing in front of a sports bar.
Baron just shrugs and opens the door for me. I debate whether or not to just turn around and walk the other way, but I love him too much to ditch him…and I do love Buffalo wings.
We're a little early for dinner, and no one's actually in the restaurant. As I look around, I notice all the TVs are off.
I turn to Baron. "Umm, are you sure they're open?"
Just as I see him nod, a man walks out from the back. "Ahhh, Mr. Richards. Just one moment." He turns around and disappears.
Baron shrugs again, and I wonder how the hell a guy in the middle of Thailand knows who my boyfriend is—and then I remember that Bear Richards played both pro and college football and was the spokesperson for at least a dozen ad campaigns. It's not like I walked into a bar and someone called me Ms. Bell. I'm not famous, he is.
The TVs flicker back on. At first it doesn't seem odd, and then I notice they're all playing the same thing, to the same soundtrack…and it has nothing to do with sports.
And wait a second—is that a picture of me when I was five?
I stand there shell-shocked as I watch images of Baron and me flash across the screens, first, as children and teenagers separately, and then finally as adults together. We've perfected the art of the SLR selfie, and all of our attempts—both cringe-worthy and swoon-worthy—flash across the screens.
When I look back at Baron, he's dropped to his knee. Everything stops. I can't breathe or think or feel anything except the mixture of shock and love swirling together in my body like two beads of dye dropped into a glass of clear water.
"I love you, Montgomery Bell. I love the woman you were. I love the woman you are, and I know I'm going to love the woman you become. Do me the honor of letting me be by your side for every single day of it as your husband."
I drop down to the ground, unable to wait for him to stand up, and I press my hands to his cheeks, pressing my nose to his. "Yes. Every single day. Yes."
He wraps his arms around me and we kiss like today is the only day we have. When we pull back, I see a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I pull away, heat rising to my cheeks at the thought of the poor man who works here wondering if we're about to get primal on his floor. Then I realize there's more than one body standing up by the bar.
I pull away and my eyes take a second to focus. I would know those faces anywhere. My mom, dad, Andie, and all of Baron's immediate family are standing just ten feet away. I'm so flabbergasted by their sudden and completely unexpected arrival that I have no idea what to say.
Andie gives me the widest eyes I've ever seen and asks, "Well, are you going to look at the ring yet?"
Everyone laughs, and I look back at Baron, who has a tiny blue velvet box in his hand. Inside there's a pearl set in a winding curve of diamonds that wrap around a delicate silver band.
"I got this on our first trip together after rehab. I went diving, found this pearl, and designed a ring"—Baron's explanation is interrupted by a throat clearing loudly—"with Andie's help, of course."
I look over at Andie, and she grins. "He didn't need too much help. The boy has good taste. I just helped add a little polish, and ring size."
I turn back to Baron. "You've had the ring all this time? That trip was nearly a year ago."
"I knew the minute I walked away from your table at Halftime that I was done for. You've always been the one for me."
"And you guys? How did you guys all get here?" My brain is running through the details of this equation, now that it's left the flabbergasted zone and moved into functional awe.
My mom beams.
"Baron asked us all to be here, and we couldn't say no."
"And the whole Thailand bit didn't hurt, either," Baron's brother jokes.
"Georgie and Zane wanted to make it…" Baron offers an apologetic smile. But they're going to have a baby, I add in my head. Well, their surrogate is having a baby. I've been getting email updates from Georgie, and I'm so excited for them. Even if it wasn't exactly the circumstances they imagined, it's still the end result they've been dreaming of.
I look around and want to pinch myself. I can't get over it. Both of our families are here, and we're getting married. Then my stomach decides it has an opinion on the whole matter and growls like an alpha dog guarding its territory. "Wait, do they have good wings here?"
Andie nods her head emphatically. "Oh, hell yeah."
We push the tables together and sit down for a meal, the TVs still set to loop through all the photos of us.
I've never been more grateful for a sports bar in my life, and I really don't like sports bars.
Just goes to show, you never know what life is going to throw your way when you have no idea what the plays are or which direction you should be running.
I found my direction, and now I have the greatest teammate in the whole world running alongside me.
The single greatest difference between writing my first book and my second was the amazing group of beta readers I had this time around. Beth, Tove, Mandy, Cassie, Ashley, Courtney, Sharron, Holly, Miranda, and Ashlei—I needed your fresh eyes to tell me that a pink football was just weird and work is boring. You were the first voices that championed this book, and I just want to reach across the Internet and hug every single one of you.
Becca, I can’t quite piece together the right words to thank you. I was just this little newbie author over in my tiny corner of the Internet, and you not only said hello, but you brought a giant lantern with you. Your help has changed my writing, and I can’t wait to turn around and rally behind you.
To my family, you all have given me the greatest gift in the whole world: your unconditional love and support. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if I sell ten books or ten million books, and that gives me the freedom to do it my way. My way isn’t always logical or easy or even right, but you love me anyway. Thanks for being my biggest fans.
To my POM author friends, thank you for kicking my butt in twenty-minute increments. I sit back and stare in awe at the beautiful words you write and how you take this community by storm. Thanks for letting me sit at your table. It’s an honor and a privilege, and I just hope someday I can repay the favor.
Oh man, it is scary as hell to hand your baby off to another person (trust me, I suck at using babysitters). Caitlin at Editing by C. Marie, I know my book is in good hands with you. You know that what reads well and what is grammatically correct aren’t always the same, and it makes me trust you all the more. Thank you for being my wordsmith and an all-around awesome human being.
Judy at Write Techniques, thank you for being my sanity check and my that exterminator. Najla at Najla Qamber Designs, you make my project manager heart so happy, and Lindee at Lindee Robinson Photography, thank you for searching for my Monty and Baron. Wendy, thank you for being the final pair of eyes on this.
Matt, I couldn’t do this without you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. You are a truly good, kind, and loyal man. The best parts of my leading men come from you. You’re stuck with me, and somehow I think I got the long end of the stick on that one.
To my buddy who thinks the baseball mitt is a hat, I’ll love you to the end of the universe and back whether or not you play sports, and I promise I’ll try to learn the rules and pay attention if you do.
And last but not least, to my readers. Thank you for every single note, review, share, like, purchase, and page turn. There are trillions of words for you to choose from, and I am so incredibly honored you chose to spend time with mine.
Until next time…
XOXO,
K.P.
K.P. Haigh joined the adult world as a project manager. After spending years in spreadsheets, she put her love of blank notebooks to good use and started spinning words into love stories.
In a perfect world, K.P. would have a never-ending supply of coffee, carbs, and sticky notes. She corners the market on ridiculous facial expressions and is happiest when she's cooking for people or making them laugh.
She’s always up for crispy French fries and can’t wait for self-driving cars to take over the world so she can read on her way to everywhere.
K.P. lives in Seattle with the man who loves her crazy and their son, who inherited half of it.
Follow K.P. Haigh’s addiction to caffeine, dairy-free baked goods, and the color green on Instagram.
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Only fools jump, and Zoey Porter is no fool—at least not anymore. One tiny mistake when she was eighteen led to two very real consequences—the kinds that keep you up all night and demand breakfast in the morning.
The only things Zoey has time for these days are dry shampoo, energy bars, and that magical photo filter that erases the circles under her eyes.
So when Elliott MacCallister knocks on the door like a #nofilternecessary god, Zoey knows she’s in serious trouble.
With Elliott as the newly minted resident of her boss’s pool house, keeping her distance is easier said than done.
Time to stock up on wine, cookies, and a portable fan—their summer just got complicated.
Only Fools Jump is like cotton candy for your soul—light and sweet. It’s a full-length, standalone romantic comedy.
