Page 102 of Play On

“You handled that so well,” I tell him. “You gave all those people something so special today.”

“It’s weird, because all I do is play football. I’m not curing cancer or figuring out how to feed the poor.”

“But football is an escape for people. A source of joy. Sometimes frustration,” I say, giving him a knowing smile. “You on that pitch gives them an escape from life. And I think it’s my turn to say don’t ever discount that.”

Noah stares down at me with amazement. “How did I find you?”

“At a bar.”

He groans at that, and I flash him a flirty smile.

“But I really didn’t notice you then, so we can say we met at a barbecue. Because that’s really when I met you, Noah.”

He puts his fingertips underneath my chin and tilts my face upwards. “Thank God for barbecues.”

Then he brushes the sweetest kiss upon my lips.

As soon as he steps back, I know exactly what to do.

“Come on, let’s go figure out how the murder holes work!”

And my reward for that line is to hear another wonderful deep-from-within laugh of happiness from Noah.

* * *

How is it that each day I spend with Noah gets better than the first?

Exploring Corfe Castle and making the long loop around it with Mila was so much fun this morning. We went down to the village below, found a dog-friendly pub, and had lunch on an outdoor patio. Then we took Mila back home and rested for a bit before heading back out to find a quiet place where Noah could show me some things about football. Because it is summer, a lotof the parks we came across had kids, and Noah said he didn’t want to share this time with me with anyone—children included—so we went back to Wintersmith Hall, where I could take him to our private garden, which visitors do not have access to.

Besides, by the time we arrived, the last round of tourists had been admitted to the house, so we drove around the back, entered through the private door, and I led Noah to the small garden that is just for us.

“Oh, this will work,” he says, dropping the football onto the rich green grass.

“Okay. I’m ready to learn. I know nothing.”

“Did you never play football in school?”

“Oh yes, but I thought it was a horrible sport and just kind of ran around the perimeters of the pitch, hoping the ball never came my way.”

This elicits another deep laugh from Noah, and my heart once again soars at the sound of it.

“Okay. I won’t get into all the rules today because that might make your head explode.”

“Thank you, I do need my head so I can pursue the art projects I have lined up.”

“Yes. I’ll just show you some moves with the ball.”

Noah begins, and my jaw is quickly hanging from a hinge, watching how quickly and expertly he’s moving the ball with his feet. I remember hearing a commentator talk about this in one of the YouTube videos I watched—what an expert Noah is with his foot skills.

Soon he’s bouncing it on his head, and as I hear the sound of the ball hitting it, I wince. “Can’t you get a concussion from doing that?” I ask, concerned.

“I’ve received concussions when I’ve knocked heads with another player,” Noah confesses. “The last one I had took me out of a game due to protocol.”

“As it should!” I say. “Protecting your health is so important!”

“Don’t worry, I’m protected,” he assures me as he bounces the ball again.

I’m not so sure about that, but I’m going to have to trust him on this.

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