Davis and Kathryn clicked at the soccer game. They shared some mutual interests and sensibilities, and enjoyed each other’s company.

The game was also great.

Despite their Seattle roots, his unknown to her, they cheered on the Timbers loyally. The home side rallied from 2-0 down for a 3-2 win on a goal two minutes into stoppage time.

Bill Tuiloma, a New Zealand defender Kathryn is convinced has come into the diner a few times, scored the game-winning goal. Davis was not convinced he was at the diner and Tuiloma sightings became a running joke. They would exchange text messages on possible sightings. Davis thought he was an avid bike rider, while Kathryn was all over the map on who she thought was Bill Tuiloma. As the texts became more frequent, Kathryn's reports started to become physically impossible. At least once, a text came through about Tuiloma being at Chipotle while Davis was watching him play on TV.

Between dubious sightings of their new favorite professional athlete, the pair became closer. Davis frequented the diner a little less. This coincided with more time spent together away from Arturo's. He was worried about blurring those lines. She was unspoken in her appreciation of that for the same reason.

A couple weeks after the game, Arturo hosted an annual cookout for friends, family and staff. Kathryn had been attending the event since before she moved to Portland. She knew almost everyone there. She decided to invite Davis as a plus-1 for the event. He mingled with a few other people he knew—Arturo, Ronnie, Edwin and one other server to which he was familiar. He was also introduced around, including to Arturo’s wife.

“This is the one that bought you pie?” she said with a smile and a hug. “That was the first thing Artie told me walking through the door that night.”

“You certainly made an impression,” she added. “I think you may have set unrealistic expectations for his other regulars.”

Davis felt surprisingly comfortable amidst the throng of strangers. What reputation preceded him was positive. Everyone was also so welcoming that he did not have to step outside his comfort zone to fit in. Being friends with Kathryn seemed to have earned credibility. He was starting to put together that she was a tough nut to crack.

Towards the end of the night, he was sitting alone, just back from a group around a campfire, when Kathryn found him.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, pulling up a chair near his. They’d spoken very little outside of eating dinner together since they arrived at the party.

“Yeah, this has been great,” he replied, giving her a smile.

Kathryn didn't really feel sorry for Davis. He seemed content and excited by his life, but she suspected he was lonely. She chalked it up to recently moving to Portland. It was a fact that reconciled nicely with the type of friends he'd made. It was a small group of people met by circumstance consistent with a couple of months in a new city.

Davis knew that his recent move offered a reasonable explanation for his solitude. He didn't feel the need to discuss. It was an unnecessary point that there was no life left behind in California.

There was one lie that stood between them and it weighed on one more than the other.

“I need to confess something,” Kathryn began quietly. She picked at the label on her beer bottle as she looked for the words.

“Oh, I know,” Davis said, casually. He didn't take his eyes off the clear night sky, at which his full attention seemed to be focused.

He took a sip of his beer as she shot a look of disbelief his way.

“You do?!?”

“Yeah, I’ve known for some time. It was obvious, really,” he replied.

“And you’re not mad?”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m glad you did it.”

His eyes remained trained on the sky.

Kathryn sat there stunned, but not surprised.

“See, kiddo," he said in a voice that dripped with intentional condescension. "I have this animal magnetism that just attracts the ladies. It’s been explained to me by a sociologist, but I don’t remember the details.”

She stared at him confused.

He continued, his voice as plain as if he was explaining the constellations to a middle schooler.

“Yeah, women, and some men, cannot control themselves around me, y’know, sexually. So, they create whatever fiction they need to be able to maintain that control when around me. I respect it. Shit, I appreciate it.”

It was at this point she punched his shoulder as hard as she could. He finally cracked, laughing uncontrollably.

“Fucker,” she shouted, holding back the urge to laugh and give him satisfaction.

It was short-lived as she cracked moments later. She was chuckling as she gave him one last backhanded swipe into the shoulder and took a drink of her beer.

Davis giggled mischievously to himself while monitoring her reaction. She squinted and really looked at his face in the dim light of the nearby fire.

“Are you drunk?”

“Eh… maybe?” he replied, still giggling.

“I felt bad having lied to you, y’know,” she said.

“I know,” he said, sobering his demeanor a bit. “It made sense and, really did take some of the pressure off me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I believed you at first, so I knew you didn’t expect it to be a date. That relieves a lot of pressure.”

Kathryn sighed in relief and took another drink of her beer.

“How did you know I wasn’t really dating anyone?”

Davis looked at her dismissively.

“What?” she said defensively.

“I watched you give your phone number to a guy at the game!”

They both laughed and let the conversation die. The state of their relationship did not change with this information being in the open. They did not address it again. It also removed the specter of trying to date from hanging over their relationship.

Shortly thereafter, they agreed to share an Uber to get home. Kathryn was dropped first. After they pulled away from her apartment, Davis slouched in his seat and beamed to no one on the night he’d enjoyed. Despite the late night and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, he was full of energy. When he arrived home, he bid adieu to his driver rather gregariously. He also wished a friendly ‘good night’ to some neighbors walking to their door down the street. He then shuffled in an almost dance to his front door.

Once inside, he laughed at his own behavior while traversing the stairs. Once inside his apartment, he slumped onto the couch.

“Fucking A, man,” he said in his empty apartment. “That was fucking fun.”

He passed out.

The truth was it was likely one of the best nights of his life. He had no baggage, forgetting about all his bullshit and the stress he carried with himself all too often. The only way the night could have gotten any better is if he’d met Bill Tuiloma.

***

A week later, Davis was putting the finishing touches on script revisions from his editor, Jason. It was late on a Tuesday night and his phone buzzed on the table next to his laptop. Confused, he checked the caller ID and also saw that it was 10:21 p.m.

“Kat Gallardo”

He pulled off his glasses and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Come down here now,” Kathryn whispered harshly.

“What? Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Come. To. The. Diner. Now,” she said firmly at a volume barely above a whisper. She added, “You are not going to regret it.”

The line went dead, and Davis stared at his phone for a moment. He then looked out of the window and saw a steady rain falling. He sighed, put his glasses back on, and looked around for some shoes.

“This better be good, otherwise I expect some free pie,” he said to himself. He fished his second running shoe out from under the couch and threw on a jacket.

Four minutes after the call ended, Davis pushed through the diner’s front door and got in out of the rain. He took a moment to catch his breath and threw back the wet hood of his rain jacket. While unzipping the coat he looked around. He saw one occupied table in the diner with three men around it. He then spotted Kathryn in Arturo’s usual place at the end of the counter near the kitchen. She gestured wildly for him to come to her and as he approached, she led him into a small hallway off the kitchen.

Her visible excitement rendered her speechless. She had to take several deep breaths to collect herself. Davis eyed her skeptically with an unamused look on his face. It was hard to hold as her giddiness was infectious.

“Bill,” she said, pausing to stifle her glee. “Here,” she spit out.

Not getting the reaction she hoped for, her expression soured. She was unable to comprehend how Davis was not matching her excitement.

“Bill,” she started again, excitement creeping back into her voice as she tried to finish. “BillTuilomaishere.”

Davis failed to comprehend again, and she tried a different tact.

“He’s here,” she said, nodding slowly as if Davis was on the verge of understanding.

“Who’s here?” he asked quietly with a continually confused expression.

It came to him suddenly, as if his mind was completing a word jumble puzzle. His excitement was ramping up and they spoke in unison, each at a pitch above a whisper.

“Bill Tuiloma!”

They were now on the same page and at a loss for how to proceed.

There is nothing inherently funny about seeing Bill Tuiloma around Portland. The man lives there. Davis and Kathryn would both admit as much. Sometimes, though, people become attached to a player. Often it's less for their athletic prowess and more for their role in a special moment. Bill Tuiloma scored the dramatic goal to beat Seattle. He might frequent Arturo's diner. He possibly even bike. the trails of Forest Park on the regular. You add on three dozen possible sightings of dubious veracity, it’s not hard to see why these two would be so excited.

After a few minutes, the initial excitement wore off. Now the two of them were left with what to do next. This was the pinnacle of the inside joke they shared. Only disappointment greeted them on the other side.

Davis pointed this out and Kathryn reluctantly agreed. She came up with the idea that they decided was the proper way to send this joke off into the sunset.

For professional reasons, it was Davis that approached the table. If Bill Tuiloma did not appreciate this encounter, it shouldn't be a diner employee harassing him.

Davis looked at the three men finishing up their meals. One of the two men on the left bench of the booth did not look at all familiar. The other looked very much like the player on the cover of the game program that night he attended the match. His name escaped Davis at that moment. On the other side, facing the two men was, definitely, and for real this time, Bill Tuiloma. He was drinking some water when Davis started talking.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to the table in general. He then turned to Bill. “Do you mind if I ask, are you Bill Tuiloma?”

“Yeah,” he said with a courteous smile and a thick New Zealand accent.

“Do you mind if I ask you two questions?”

Bill was confused at this and looked at his meal companions. They both shrugged before nodding affirmatively. They were obviously intrigued and happy to not be the one fielding odd requests.

Bill turned back to him and, with a skeptical reply said, “Sure?”

“One, have you eaten at this diner before? And two, do you bike in Forest Park often?” Davis asked. He was obviously nervous and trying hard not to seem weird.

It was weird, but Bill was relieved at the lower level of weirdness. It could, in his estimation, be so much weirder.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his mouth.

“Tony here,” he continued, motioning to the non-soccer player across from him. “He lives nearby and loves the pie, so he likes to come here. The pies are good, so we come with him sometimes.”

As he was answering, Kathryn was slowly creeping around the counter to listen in. She came into sight and caught the attention of all four men. The three customers shrugged it off, figuring this was all connected.

“As for Forest Park, I mean, I have ridden there, yeah, but I wouldn’t say ‘frequently.’”

He looked at Davis, hoping that he was helpful. He also hoped this would be the end of, not only the weird questions but the weird interaction as a whole.

“Thank you,” Davis said, offering a thankful hand gesture to Bill’s dining mates and then to Bill himself.

He turned on the spot and retreated to the back. Kathryn retreated ahead of him. By now, the giddiness had worn off and he and Kathryn reveled at the end of a good joke. She felt vindicated that he did, in fact, come into the diner sometimes. Davis felt like maybe he has Bill Tuiloma mixed up with someone else, a fact they both laughed about.

“Up close, I don’t think he’s the guy I see riding in Forest Park.”

Kathryn collected herself and returned to her actual job of waiting on tables. After settling the table’s bill, she offered an apology.

“I’m sorry about my friend,” she told the table, focusing on Bill. “We were at the Seattle game and saw your goal. I was also convinced I’d seen you in here before and he was convinced he’d seen you at Forest Park. It became a running joke that we see you everywhere.”

The three men laughed, and Bill was relieved. It made a lot of sense now… fucking weird, but, again, a reasonable amount of weird. He also offered to take a photo with them.

“That would be great!” she said excitedly.

Davis met the group at the door and Kathryn handed her phone to the other man that was not Tony.

“Actually,” Tony said, taking the phone away from the man. “I think he should be in the picture.”

Kathryn and Davis stood next to the omnipresent Bill Tuiloma and his friend Diego.

Tony took three pictures for good measure. Then, he gave the phone back to Kathryn with a slip of paper and the three men left.

“What’s on the paper?” Davis asked after they’d cleared the doorway into the night.

“That Tony guy gave me his phone number,” she said with a laugh, slipping the paper into her pocket.

Davis helped Kathryn wind down her shift, wiping down the counter and chatting. Then, as he walked her to her car shortly after midnight, her phone dinged. She looked at it and chuckled.

“Apparently, the other player with Bill was Diego Valeri,” she said. “According to my friend, ‘only the best player in team history.’ He tweeted about it, too.”

She turned her phone to Davis and saw a screenshot of Diego Valeri’s Twitter account:

“Esta noche conocí a los mayores fanáticos de Bill Tuiloma.

Amo Portland.”

“What does that mean?” asked Davis.

“Something about meeting the biggest Bill Tuiloma fans and that he loves Portland,” she replied.

They had one last laugh and said good night. Once Kathryn pulled away in her car, Davis turned to walk home. He realized it had stopped raining and laughed to himself.

“You are not going to regret it,” she had said. The words bounced around in his head the whole walk home. That, with the fact that she was right about Bill eating at the diner, convinced him Kathryn may never be wrong.