Like all great love stories, ours began with fishing. Brendan was out doing what he does best—pretending to fish while avoiding real commitment—when Maddie (his buddy Eddie’s wife and part-time matchmaker) started relentlessly pitching a woman named Alexandra. “You two would be perfect,” she said, showing Brendan a photo reel of cute girl with horse, like Maddie was trying to sell him a thoroughbred. She was right. Alexandra was cute. But months passed and nothing happened… until destiny (aka Hinge) intervened. Brendan saw her profile. He swiped. He messaged. Alexandra ghosted. Brutal. Alexandra finally came across Brendan’s profile (because she was like, never on it) ; she was… skeptical. Every single photo was him holding a fish. Big fish. Small fish. One where he was holding a bird like a fish. Naturally, she was put off—unsure if she was swiping on a man or a seafood supplier. So she ghosted him. As one does. Weeks later—plot twist—she came crawling back (like they always do). Brendan, determined to play hard to get and give Alexandra a dose of her own medicine, made it a solid six hours before breaking and texting her back. Emotional endurance of a Navy SEAL. They set a date. Brendan pulled out all the stops and took Alexandra to one of the fanciest places in town—you know, the kind of place where they scrape crumbs off your table with tiny metal spatulas. Class. Automatic. They got lost in conversation, completely unaware that the staff was standing quietly in the corner like haunted waiters, because the restaurant had closed an hour and a half ago. Brendan dropped Alexandra off like a true gentleman—though let’s just say, the car was in park for a while. And the rest, as they say, is history… or at least a series of dinner dates, inside jokes, travels around the world, and now this: a legally binding contract. So go ahead—RSVP. You’re officially part of the story now.