“Morals,” she murmurs, stepping closer, “or bad life choices?”
I meet her gaze, and for a moment everything around us disappears—the vineyard, the villa, the quiet hum of the workersoutside. It’s just her and me, and that spark that’s been building ever since she walked back into my life.
If I’m not careful, she’ll undo me with nothing more than that look. Then what will happen to me when she goes away again? Carefully, I move back, testing the strength of my knee.
Maya stands by cautiously as I walk around in a circle. Finally, certain of my strength—both emotional and physical—I ask her, “So, did you decide?”
She fiddles with the dials of her camera for a few moments. Lifting it up, she peers through the lens at something over my shoulder when she murmurs, “I’m staying—if that’s okay with you?”
Surprise and relief flood through me. “Then I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your afternoon. During dinner, if there’s anything specific you’re looking to do while you’re here, let me know. I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can.”
She lowers her camera and her lips curve in a manner that would make the Mona Lisa envious. She backs away from me and calls out, “I know you will.”
Standing there, unable to look away, I wonder if she notices I’m completely out of breath, the way I used to be when I was working for what I thought was my life’s goal—the NFL. Now, if the way my heart’s thumping in my chest is anything to go by, the NFL was just a pastime until I was within striking distance of my dream—her.
13
ZONE DEFENSE: DEFENDERS COVER AREAS OF THE FIELD, NOT PLAYERS.
Over the last several months, every click of the shutter has given me a new perspective but none so much as the photos I took this morning of Troy.
I’ve captured humanity in all its forms throughout my entire career—people in all walks of life experiencing everything from the mundane to the magnificent. Some knew I was there; some never knew I existed. But capturing the pictures of Troy feltdifferent. He knew I had a lens trained in his general direction. Yet, he didn’t pose, nor did he conceal himself. Standing in the courtyard with the midday sun catching the highlights in his hair, jaw shadowed, his expression revealed simple emotions I’ve never been on the other side of before.
I’m not surprised I caught sight of the man who defended me through my viewfinder—his strength and quiet determination. But what shocked me was the hint of vulnerability in his eyes.I wonder what put it there. Then I remind myself that any story Troy wants to share is up to him to offer. Still, when I lowered the lens, I realized I was really seeing him.
It made me want to dig deep to understand him more.
And that’s the most dangerous kind of photo for me to take because it makes me forget my most recent heartache.
I received a note from Troy to just meet him in the kitchen for dinner that evening. Donning a pair of camel-colored slacks, a matching oversized shirt, with a contrasting belt and sandals, I head directly into the kitchen to find Troy, himself, at the stove. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You’re cooking?”
He twists around and flashes me a grin. “I’m reheating.” With a jerk of his chin, he motions to the decanter of red wine near a charcuterie board. “Help yourself. I’m at a critical stage.”
I do, pouring a generous glass of the ruby-red liquid into the stemless glass. After a small sip, I hum in delight. “What is this?”
“Our 2022 Barbera. Fantastic, isn’t it?”
I swirl the wine in my glass, keeping my eyes on him as he expertly flips grilled meat. Lightly, I banter, “If dinner is half as good as this wine, I may never leave.” Because I’m watching him so closely, I note how his frame stiffens before he forces it to relax.
His chuckle is a bit strangled. “Of course, you’re welcome to spend as much time here as you’d like, Maya.”
“Thank you.” Two simple words, but does Troy fully understand what I’m thanking him for? Not just his hospitality but for actively defending me.
For being an honorable man.
For not standing back and passively agreeing with how the women affected by the Oklahoma Lightning were treated.
Still with his back to me, he casually asks, “Would you mind bringing me a drink?”
“My pleasure.” I turn back and pour him a glass. As I approach, I ask, “What are we having for dinner?”
“Grilled pork chops, polenta, and garlic-roasted mushrooms.” He wipes the sweat from his brow on the apron I realize he’s wearing.
“Ireallywish I had my camera. I’d make bank capturing former-NFL kicker Troy Walsh in an apron.” I hand over his drink, even as he rolls his remarkable eyes. “Granted, it wouldn’t be worth as much as Brendan Blake in one.”
“Do you like his music? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a country fan.”
“Not going to lie—I'm more of a Beckett Miller fan.”
