Page 99 of Houston, We Have a Problem
Though he’s clearly distracted by the game, Houston leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m happy to be wherever you are,” he assures me.
It would be a lot easier to make that happen if he wasn’t renting an apartment thirty minutes across town from me in St. Louis. He swears the distance is an important and crucial part of his goal to live deliberately, but every night that I have to say goodbye to him gets that much harder, and I can see his reluctance each time he drives away.
He has invested in a couple of businesses in St. Louis that keep him fairly busy while I’m at work, and he keeps looking for more people who could use his help. But there’s still a part of me that wonders how long he’s going to stay. Nothing about his situation is permanent, and I haven’t been brave enough to ask what his plan is. For now, I’m happy that he spends so much time with me when he could be with his family here in Sun City.
As the crowd breaks into groans and boos, Houston grabs his hat and tosses it to the ground at his feet. “He was safe!” he shouts at the umpire despite being too far to be heard. “That should have been a run!”
Unfortunately, the Red-tails take to the outfield while the Astros get ready to bat. The rookie is on the mound, and I’m eager to see him throw even though I feel like Houston is still acting strangely.
A song by Sixpence None the Richer blasts over the speakers at the same time the announcer shouts that it’s time for the Kiss Cam, and Houston leans back in his seat, now hatless. He has definite hat hair, and he runs his fingers through the waves as if he knows it.
I lean into him as the first couple comes on screen. “Is it weird that I love these?” I ask, watching the shy pair give each other a peck.
Houston smirks, shifting in his seat and digging into his pocket. “I thought maybe you would.”
The next couple look like they’re about eighty, and their kiss is surprisingly juicy. The announcer calls them fans for life, and I want to be that cool in fifty years.
“Speaking of fans,” the announcer continues as Houston shifts again, like he can’t get comfortable, “we have a local hero in our midst. Everyone give a warm welcome to the one and only Houston Briggs!”
The crowd goes crazy at the same time the jumbotron shows me and Houston. Why is Houston barely in the frame? I look over at him, and my heart stops.
He’s down on one knee, a little velvet box in his shaking hands. He pries it open to reveal the most gorgeous ring I’ve ever seen. It’s a solitaire cut set in a twisted rose gold band that is both understated and elegant, the perfect mix of simple and dazzling.
“Houston,” I gasp.
He grins, flashing those dimples I love. “I told you this question was coming.”
“I didn’t think you were serious!” Maybe in a year or two, but not after we’ve only been dating for eight months.
“Let’s give her some encouragement, folks,” the announcer says.
I don’t know which camera is trained on me, so I glare at all of them in turn, generating laughter from the cheering crowd.
Houston hasn’t moved, and despite his nerves, he’s so calm. Like he’s known what my answer will be since the day he warned me about the question. “I am so deeply, madly in love with you, Darcy Paxton,” he says. “You challenge me and lift me up, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth and back again if you let me be your husband.”
“Let you be…” I don’t know why, but him asking to be my husband rather than asking if I’ll be his wife makes me burst into tears because it’s so perfect. “Hou.”
He purses his lips. “You don’t have to say yes right now. Or at all. I know I’m putting a lot of pressure on this question by doing this here, but I—”
“Yes.” The word squeaks out of me like I’m some chipmunk on the side of the road. “Yes, of course you can be my husband!” I throw my arms around his neck and pull myself in.
The cheer starts directly around us, spreading throughout the stadium as everyone figures out that I said yes. Despite the jumbotron documenting all of this, I give Houston the kiss of his life and wonder, like I’ve done so many times, how I got so lucky to fall in love with him.
Eventually, the announcer returns to the game and the crowd settles, and I figure I should give Houston a chance to breathe. Besides, I want to watch the rookie pitch. As we return to our seats with our hands clasped together, Houston pulls hishat back on his head as if that might help people forget that he’s sitting there. I’m torn between watching the game and admiring the absolutely perfect ring he picked out, and then there’s the people around us, who start crowding us and patting Houston on the back in congratulations.
After about two minutes of constant interaction, Houston looks at me. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I know you prefer watching games from the bleachers, but I did get a box if…”
He’s right, and games are so much better out in the open and in the thick of things. The crowd is as much a part of the game as the players. But maybe not this crowd; they’re all fans of Houston Briggs. Nodding, I let him lead me up the stairs and through the disappointed spectators until we’re on the mezzanine behind the seats. Anyone who’s back there to get a hot dog or nachos recognizes Houston right away and starts swarming, so we break into a run until we burst through the door of the private box he rented, both of us laughing too hard to breathe.
A cheer in front of us makes me jump. Looking up, I recognize both our families, and my heart swells. “Mom! Dad!” I embrace them first because they’re closest, and Mom’s tears unleash my own.
“I’m so happy for you!” she says as she gives me a bone-crushing hug. When I first brought Houston to Philly, she was entirely wary—apparently she Googled him before we made it to the house—but Houston charmed her quickly. Especially when I told her that he helped me get my dream job. Now that she can actually see me on TV sometimes, she understands better why I love what I do. Plus, Houston sweet-talked her into letting him pay for some home renovations and treatments to help my dad and give my mom a break when it comes to his care.
Dad’s hug is stronger than I expected, which only makes me cry harder. “You found the best of men,” he tells me. “He makes you shine.”
I grin. “I know.”
Then Carissa tackles me. My little sister has gotten strong from her days in her physical therapy office and nearly knocks me off my feet, but I manage to keep us upright as she squeals into my ear. “You’re getting married!”
