Let’s get one thing straight: Bo didn’t write this. If you think he did, that’s cute. But no, you’re stuck with my version, which is the real one. If he tells you something different? He’s wrong. So, here we go. We met on New Year’s Day at Whitlow’s, a charming neighborhood bar and restaurant in Arlington. A mutual friend thought they’d play Cupid and set us up. I arrived excited about the possibilities, new year, new chapter, new people. But the vibe quickly turned into something I wasn’t expecting. Bo spent the entire time processing some heartbreak, and I left thinking, Well, nice guy, but thank god I’ll never have to see him again. Fast forward a few weeks. I was moving into my new place in D.C., still adjusting to life stateside after Ireland, when our friend decided I needed help. Without telling me, she gave Bo my address, and he showed up at my door ready to lend a hand. I had two choices: 1- Tell my dad, “This guy I barely know is here to move me in.” 2- Pretend we were old friends and roll with it. I went with option two. Bo didn’t just show up, he helped unpack everything and even managed to stay calm when I drove the wrong way down a one-way street on a trip to the Ace Hardware in Tenleytown. By the end of the day I thought, maybe I’ll give this guy a chance. A few months later, everything changed. I started feeling off with constant fevers, night sweats so bad we had to change the sheets every night, and a general sense that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t exactly romantic. Eventually, while on a trip to Croatia, I got the news: lymphoma. Bo, as my emergency contact, had already been told. He asked my doctor if I could finish my trip before dealing with it, and when I landed back in the States, he was there waiting, ready to pack me up (again) and move me into his apartment so I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. That was 12 years ago, and the best way to describe those years is an adventure. Along the way, we combined Bo’s love of history with my business skills and launched Tours for Humanity, a D.C.-based tour company. We finally hit our stride in its fifth year, but then the pandemic hit. Tours and lockdowns don’t mix, so we took what we thought would be a two-week escape to Camp Laney, the summer camp Bo’s family owns in Alabama. Those two weeks turned into something much bigger. Bo stepped into the role at camp, and I found myself adapting to life in a 300-person town, something I never imagined for myself. If you’d have told me a decade ago that I’d trade the city for camp life, I wouldn’t have believed you. But I found my place here. Bo’s mama likes to remind me, “That’s so city,” whenever I do something that shows my roots, but this city girl has learned to thrive in the mountains. During the pandemic, I had my first real moment of feeling at home with Bo and his family. We spent those early months cooking through every shippable meal kit imaginable, eating at separate tables in the lodge, and parenting his parents about staying home. It was the first time I felt like part of the Hammonds, and now we’re making it official. We can’t wait to celebrate this next chapter with all of you!