This is what happens when you combine an introvert; an extrovert; a karaoke bar; a microwave that slightly electrocutes you if you sit on the stove and hold hands; a now closed Vietnamese spring roll joint; a bus ride to the zoo; a shared love of Fort Worth; a fake proposal to get a hotel upgrade in Jamaica; a ruleless hand gesture competition based solely on feeling; rapidly barking out “I’m Keto now” at random times to make fun of a good friend; daily lunch plans; a meaningless phrase uttered multiple times a day every single day in perpetuity that secretly means “I love you;” some emeralds from Colombia; a fake cooking show; an ever growing family of house plants; way too many shoes; a trove of stolen t-shirts and sweatshirts; a growing love for A-frame houses; a mutual hatred of the same piece of luggage; the #1 instagram door blog in the greater DC area; Louis Prima’s version of “Little Green Apples;” logistics as a love language; Friday fajitas; Sunday carbonara; the musical Hamilton; a dislike of the beach; linen sheets from Australia or wherever; a competitive walking league; a pandemic; her going to his grandmother’s house to FaceTime him so he could see her during said pandemic when he was stuck in DC; a strict delineation of kitchen duties split between cooking and dishwashing; Newhart reruns; train rides to New York; super cooling bedroom fans; home workouts; every episode of Friends; three floods; a fire; a lot of patience; a frantic run through JFK airport; a neat night at the TWA hotel because the now defunct national airline of Italy had trouble flying to Italy; a terrible airbnb in Rome; an early morning; a shot of limoncello, a plucky photographer named Gianfranco; the Trevi Fountain; a blue suit without socks; the perfect green dress; a red box; a ring; a real proposal complete with a caveat to continue to dance together in the kitchen forever; and a “yes” followed by a walk down the Via Margutta. Yep, it could happen to anyone, really.