Page 34 of Winning Match
What an interesting term. Like fashionista but for a sport.
I groan. “Of course, it’s a sport I know absolutely nothing about,” I mutter to the empty space.
I would have hit the jackpot if he’d been a sailor. I could have held my own if Ale had said tennis or golf or even American football. Maybe.
But soccer?
I wrinkle my nose. I have a lot to learn, and I know it.
My phone rings in the other room and I drag myself to stand, betting that it’s the Sewing Circle. Instead, my heart rate ticks up.
“Grandpa,” I answer the call.
“Marlowe.” His tone is severe, underlined with stress. He sounds exhausted. “What’s going on? You haven’t answered my last few messages.”
“I’ve been trying to sort things out on my end.”
“And?”
“I can secure the Costa account,” I say with more gumption than I feel.
“You can?” Surprise laces his words. “How?”
“I met someone…”
“Marlowe,” he warns.
“It’s not like that, Grandpa.” I work a swallow, knowing I’ll need to stretch the truth as I navigate my way through this story. “Gerard and I broke up.”
Grandpa sighs heavily and I rush to tell him more, to assure him that I’m not wallowing with a broken heart.
“And then, fate intervened,” I say slowly. Over the next ten minutes, I spin a tale that sounds like a goddamn love story.
A Spanish futbolista who came to my rescue.
A group of friends who cheered me up.
An upgraded hotel suite to make sure I was comfortable and safe.
A dinner invitation to a family gathering.
An offer to connect me to José Costa.
By the time I’m finished, I can practically hear Grandpa nodding along with my good fortune.
“You’re staying then,” he says finally.
“I am, but I’m worried about Dad and?—”
“Don’t worry about your father. I’ll look after him and give Judith a call too.”
I exhale and try to relax. My dad is the most important person in my life, and I hate that I’ll miss out on seeing him for…ten weeks. “I might be here awhile, Grandpa.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “We’ll make it work, Marlowe. You’re doing the right thing, and your dad would want this for you. For Prescott Sail. He’d be proud of you. I sure am.”
Those pesky tears spring forward again, and I blink rapidly to keep them in check. “Thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, kid. And call me from time to time.”
