Our story starts, as many great love stories do, with a very persistent third party. After moving to Malta and starting a new job in 2018, I was minding my own business when Amanda James entered my life. Within minutes, she had asked me approximately 47 questions, learned my life story, and committed it all to memory. Somewhere in that interrogation, she uncovered two key facts: I was single, and we had both grown up in neighboring small towns in the “country.” That was apparently all the information she needed. A few months later, Amanda casually informed me that she wanted to give my number to someone named “Eric Michael.” The way she said it suggested I should already know who he was, like he was a household name in very specific households. I confirmed he was neither, but agreed anyway and wrote my number down on a pink Post-it note for her to pass along. Amanda gave a glowing review to both of us, apparently. To me, he was “a great guy,” very outgoing, and, notably, very into Yeti coolers and cups… which felt like a strange detail to emphasize at the time. In hindsight, she was absolutely right. Eric remains deeply committed to coolers that, according to him, all “serve a purpose.” I remain committed to stopping him from buying them. If you know Eric, then you know. To Eric, I was described as a “cute but sweet country girl from Delaware County,” who enjoys outdoorsy things. Which, to be fair, is a hell-of-a pitch. In reality, “outdoorsy” is doing a lot of work here. Think beach. Book. Drink. Before meeting Eric, I considered myself an internet sleuth. If it existed online, I could find it. Eric, however, was a complete blind spot. Slightly concerning, but not enough to stop me. And then… nothing. For two weeks, NOTHING. Which is not devastating when you’ve never met the person. Amanda, now fully invested, kept checking in asking if he had texted me. No. Still no. Eventually, she ran into Eric at a concert at SPAC and let him know he was making her look bad. That seemed to work, because shortly after, I finally got a text. We met for drinks and ended up talking for hours. I remember thinking, “That was the best conversation of my life.” Naturally, that feeling lasted until I got a text later that night: “It was a pleasure meeting you.” Yeah. Not exactly reassuring. The period at the end felt aggressive. Honestly, just tell me you hate me! I assumed I had somehow blown it. …fortunately, I had not because we've been together ever since! That one conversation turned into seven years. Seven years of laughter, growth, and building a life together. Now we’re finally getting married!! 🤍