"Should we lie?" Victor asked. "Definitely not," she said. No lie. We met online. Online profiles only show a glimpse, like marketing pieces promising perfect products. Of course we marketed ourselves attractive, successful, and fit. But one characteristic stood out that linked us much deeper than the smiles our parents had paid for. We are both lifelong skiers. But it was summer, so we did all the warm weather things skiers do to kill time. Surfing, biking, running, road trips. We'd spent every hour of every day together that first summer, and were confident the relationship had promise. But winter was the real test. If Victor wasn't as good as he told Amy he was (as he did many times), or Amy didn't prove that she grew up in a ski family, it was over. On the first run at Loon Mountain in New Hampshire, Amy took off like a racer, and Victor chased her. She carved turns like a pro, and soon it was like a movie scene in Aspen Extreme. Amy in the lead, Victor swooshing behind. This was a relationship meant for a lifetime.

We were staying in Kennebunkport, at the beach Amy spent her childhood, not far from the wedding site. The sky was clear, the tide was low. Victor spent the morning writing love notes for Amy in the sand. "Let's take a walk," he said that afternoon. It was a Thursday, just like any other spring day on the coast. Empty beaches, chilly air, relaxing waves. This nonchalant approach was intentional. No trip to Paris or hot air balloon ride. Amy suspected a proposal was underway, and he didn't want to hint a surprise. The beach was cliché enough, but this felt more like a walk in the front yard rather than an epic mountain summit. She casually agreed to go. The dog came along. "What's that in the sand?" He asked at the first inscription. "Victor loves Amy," it said. "Aww that's cute," she said the same way you'd compliment a 6-year old for a bad drawing. "And what's that ahead," he continued. She stepped forward to the next line. "Will you marry me?" It asked. She paused for a much longer time needed to read four words. Her back was still turned. He fumbled for the ring, got on one knee. "Aww" she said, with the same whimsical tone as before. Was she not understanding this was the once-in-a-life moment when you commit to a life together? Did she have doubts? He'd just asked her, in writing, to be his partner for life, and she was so casual. She turned. Now he was really nervous. She tiptoed closer, raising her head to look into the box, still curious like she didn't know he was asking her to marry him. "Wait," she said, and touched her heart. "Is this really happening?" "Yes, this is really happening." Speechless, she looked in the box again with no answer. He asked her, wrote it in sand to marry him, and she stood there as if waiting for more. "Honey," she finally said. "You have to say it." He'd forgotten that part. "Oh right," he cleared his throat. "Let's get married!" And that's when their next chapter began, on a Thursday, written in the sand.