We're getting married!

Amy's POV: It was a lazy Saturday afternoon when one of my friends—who normally preferred bar hopping at night—surprised me with an invite to Green Cheek Brewery. The spontaneity was unexpected, but I was instantly in. There’s something about a sunny patio and a cold beer that just pulls you in, especially when you need to shake off the routine. We grabbed our drinks, found a shaded picnic table, and started catching up. I told them how I’d recently stumbled into the world of manifestation. I wasn’t just dabbling—I was in. I had just landed a full-time position at work after months of uncertainty, and I was convinced it wasn’t just coincidence. I half-joked that I must have inherited some bruja magic from my ancestors. My friend, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow but listened. Then the conversation turned to dating—the mess that it was. I confessed my growing frustration with dating apps, swiping until my thumb hurt but feeling more drained than hopeful. In a small burst of theatrical defiance, I slammed my fist on the wooden table and declared, “I’m manifesting right now that I’m going to meet my husband today at this brewery.” They laughed. “Girl, maybe try meeting your boyfriend first.” I shrugged, sipping my beer like it was a potion for confidence. Not long after, I heard the unmistakable sound of a child’s laughter—pure, bright, and impossible to ignore. I glanced over to see a man, probably in his thirties, on all fours, crawling around a nearby table, playing tag with an absolutely adorable little girl. She was giggling uncontrollably, her tiny arms full of scrunchies, and dragging a stuffed hamster by one paw. “That’s so hot,” I whispered to my friends. “The way that dad is playing with his daughter? I love that.” One of them squinted. “No, I don’t think he’s her dad. I’m getting more…cool uncle vibes.” I grinned. “That’s even hotter.” Fifteen minutes later, that same little girl marched up to our table, proudly holding the hand of—yes, the hot uncle. She looked up at us with the fearless charm only kids possess and asked if she could sit with us. She wore a kitten-covered mask that barely fit her face, and scrunchies all the way to her elbow. She told us her favorite color was purple (obviously), and launched into a story about her pet hamster, whose name I unfortunately don’t remember but was probably something like Mr. Wiggles. While she chatted away, her uncle—tall, kind-eyed, and with that relaxed charisma—joined in the conversation. He asked for our names, laughed at the girl’s dramatic tales, and slipped in a few jokes of his own. It was casual, but something clicked. Then, just as suddenly, they waved goodbye and headed back to their table. About ten minutes later, he came back—alone this time. He smiled, said he had to leave, but asked if he could get my number before he did. I was a few beers in, buzzing with warmth and amusement, and despite having a Hinge date scheduled for the next day, I gave him my number. Three days later, he called me. Not texted. Called. And that was the beginning of everything.