Page 96 of Miami Ice

“We can eat out on the patio if you all would like,” Becca says.

“I love being in a place where eating outside in November is an option,” Beckham says. “That would be great.”

Antoni hands me a glass of wine, and I thank him. Then we all pick up platters and plates and follow him to the back of the house. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a gorgeous pool framed by palm trees, and the bay coming right up against his property. The sun is shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and the palm trees dance lightly in the breeze coming off the bay. We all take a seat around the table, with sounds of thefountains from Antoni’s pool bubbling in the background, along with the sounds of boats cruising by.

“I can’t get over this,” Beckham says, staring out at the bay. “It’sNovember.”

“Back in Poland, I’d be shoveling snow,” Antoni quips, reaching for an empanada. “I think I’ll take this scene.”

“I’ve only seen snow in person once. On vacation,” I say, following his lead and picking up an empanada. “Dad took us skiing, and I thought it was pretty amazing. Until I got cold, so my joy lasted for ten minutes. Then I was missing palm trees and sunshine.”

Beckham stares at me. “Wait. The woman who is obsessed with Christmas isn’t obsessed with snow?”

Antoni laughs. “That’s a bombastic side-eye if I ever saw one.”

Becca laughs, too. “Yep.”

I shoot my own quizzical look at Beckham. “I never said I was obsessed with snow.”

“But isn’t that part of the Christmas vibe? White Christmas and all that stuff?”

“Not for me.”

“Nobody is singing about dreaming of a palm-tree Christmas,” he challenges, pausing to dip his tortilla chip into some guacamole before popping it into his mouth.

“Well, they should, because lit palm trees are beautiful,” Becca declares, taking a bite of her empanada.

“I agree. I love a Florida Christmas,” I say defiantly.

We begin to chat about being in Miami, and what the neighborhood is really like—as in the neighbors, of course. Antoni says people are friendly and welcoming, but also respectful of maintaining privacy, which I’m glad to hear for Beckham’s sake.

As we talk, I’m struck by how absolutely normal Antoni and Becca are. From the way he speaks, you would never know he’s one of the most famous athletes in the world. He simply comes across as a kind, funny man. A man who adores his girlfriend, too. I notice the way he glances at her or reaches over and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. It’s similar to the way Beckham puts his hand on my knee, lightly drawing circles around it with his fingertips.

Eventually Beckham and Antoni begin talking sports, and Becca and I have our own conversation.

“So how long have you been seeing Beckham?” she asks.

Hmm. Do I answer in fake dating terms or reality terms?

“We officially started dating this week,” I offer.

“Oh wow, from the way you interact I would have thought it was much longer,” Becca says.

“It feels that way to us, too,” I say, taking a sip of the crisp, chilled rosé in my glass. A gust comes in off the bay, drifting over us, and as I watch the palm trees sway overhead, a sense of home washes over me. I love Miami. I love the energy, the vibrancy, the weather, just everything about it.

Snow is fine. But I’ll take this any day over a white Christmas.

“Have you been to any of Beckham’s games yet?” Becca asks, taking a sip of her own wine.

“I’ve been to one with his sister, brother-in-law, and nieces. Next Friday night is my first one where I’ll be attending alone as his girlfriend.”

Becca’s dark eyes alight with understanding. “Oh, so your first game sitting with the wives and girlfriends. How do you feel about that? I was petrified the first time I had to do it.”

She understands, I think. Becca is beautiful and dating one of the most popular athletes on the planet, yet she not only understands how I feel, but admits to having had the same feelings herself.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that because I’m nervous,” I admit. “I just hope I fit in.”

She grins. “I can tell you haven’t heard my story.”

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