“I didn’t fall in love with Rhode Tremblay, Nashville’s Naughtiest Bachelor. I fell in love with the man who makes me cross-stitches, and always makes sure I have an aisle seat. The man who drives forty-five minutes to buy decaf beans from my favorite roaster. The man I spend more time staring at on a screen than I do in person because he’s gone so much,” I mutter, sipping my beer. “I hate being in love with a professional athlete. I never see him.”
