Their love nest is cozily perched in a city where millions have left their heart– San Francisco, a city snuggled by coastal fog, eclectic architecture, and rousing personalities. Amidst rows of rectangular homes, they’ve found their own little hideaway for two, with big bay windows welcoming crisp air and shadowy cityscapes– welcoming the calm of life knowing you’ve found your person, the calm of knowing you’ll search no further.
It was in a little bar in that big city where their hearts unexpectedly collided; she was certainly not looking for love, just a cold drink and a night out with her pals. But she noticed him– tall, dark, and handsome– unassumingly waiting for his crew as they enlivened the bar, gallivanting with her girlfriends. She noticed him alright, he, the one who wasn’t trying to be noticed. And he noticed her, (not) all gussied up, but naturally beautiful and relieved to be off the clock. As their peoples prolongedly mingled, it only made sense for them to strike up conversation. And hear me out, neither were complaining– the seemingly impossible had made it’s way: single and beautiful found single and beautiful. Which is an occasion that single people are convinced happens approximately never times never.
But there the seemingly impossible was, there they were, hot in conversation that struck light a match, with riveted interest, googly eyes, and no curfew– all ingredients for what they’d soon call the night they first met.
The next afternoon she taste-tested her way through Costco, explaining to her girlfriends, in between bites of course, what all that was with that one guy last night. Of course most of the conversation was speculation– what he thought of her, what they presumed would happen next– but in the midst of the uncertainties, the girl who never makes bold claims regarding love found herself declaring, “He’s the one I’m going to marry.”
Fast forward a bit. The scene is Paso Robles, California, where they came along to celebrate her parents 30th wedding anniversary. She went in on the vacation with a hunch (and a hunger) for a dazzler– and much more than that, for his full-fledged commitment. There was nothing she wanted more– there was no one else, as far as her eyes could see and her heart could feel. He was it.
And it was late October, right before the holidays, and this was the last big hoorah before they’d visit his family in the midwest. If he was going to propose, it was going to be today, she confidently convinced herself. In the barrel room, with her parents, near a candle stick? She could picture it. Man sips wine. Man drops down (not from said wine, of course). Man puts ring on girl’s finger. Girl puts both hands over mouth. Girl cries happy tears, kisses man, asks if it’s real life, and then Instagrams picture of ring. She could imagine it all. In fact, it was all she could think about. All day.
But the wine tasting was nearing it’s end, and still nothin‘. Suddenly, the wine started to lose its luster, and she began to lose the hope she had invested her whole self into. A little grumpy about the whole situation and not afraid to show it (can’t blame her), she told her family she was off to take a nap. The sullen sneak away, we girls are famous for it. (Sometimes it’s better than the alternative… let downs are hard feelings to wrangle!) Her mom, knowing exxacctly what was going on, earnestly tried to soften the let down, tried convincing Linds to take a walk outside and enjoy the scenery. But the only scenery she wanted to see was some bling on the fing, and that scenery could conveniently be found in her dreams. Off to bed!
Later that evening, Steve sat on the porch, waiting for his sleeping beauty to rise. And she did, with grace. Lindsay gave the day a new start, fresh with a shower and clear mind, and joined the one she loves outside. He explained that the resort had dropped by a “complimentary” bottle of wine, and asked her if she wanted to share it. Yes indeed, she did.
He pulled out the bottle, and on it was a picture of a diamond ring, her diamond ring, the one that has been burning a hole in his pocket. The bottle read “Lindsay, Will You Marry Me?” GASP.
The only problem was, she didn’t notice. Not even a wee little bit.
She sipped her wine, and he, baffled, waited. And waited. Eyebrows wrinkled. Waiting more. NOTHIN.
So he instigated a bit, basically trying anything to have her notice the label. Although the bottle was hand-selected by him, $90 in value, he said, “I don’t know if I like the taste of this wine.” Just trrrryying to get her to look further into the situation. But instead, she calmly agreed. “Yeah, it tastes cheap.” (!!!!!!!!) AH!!!!!
Can’t handle the humor. I just… can’t.
“Hmmm. Well is it supposed to be paired with anything?” It took a second, possibly the longest second to exist, but she grabbed the bottle to answer his question, and… finally…. she saw. The moments get fuzzy from here. A whirlwind of surprise, relief, thankfulness, an uproar of jubilee.
Reaching deep in his pocket, now one knee up, all in– playing for keeps– he voiced the words she’d imagined him saying, what every girl has imagined hearing, over and over again.