For both of us, dating had never been easy. Brandon mostly avoided it. While his friends were getting married, he poured himself into school and eventually earned his Master’s degree to become a Nurse Practitioner. For years, he was the “token single friend” at every wedding, dinner party, and holiday gathering. I was the opposite. A social butterfly and unapologetic flirt, I considered speed dating a hobby. I grew up hearing my dad tell the story of how he met my mom and told her immediately he was going to marry her. I always hoped for that kind of love-at-first-sight moment. I carried a confidence that often confused people. I was usually the heaviest girl in the room, and I knew that made dating harder—but I never let it stop me. I channeled that drive into launching my own boudoir photography business and built it into a six-figure studio. Still, what I was getting out of my love life (or the lack thereof) was preventing me from finding true happiness, and I knew I needed to make a change for myself. I deserved happiness just as much as anyone else. After turning 30, I got gastric sleeve surgery and invested in my health. Dating improved, but finding “the one” still felt impossible. Brandon and I were both committed to becoming the best versions of ourselves, yet deep down, we each had started to lose hope that love would find us. Enter: The Dating Apps I’d been on dating apps for a decade. Having lived in the same city for ten years, I recognized most faces. Brandon, on the other hand, had lived in multiple cities before settling here. At the urging of a friend, he finally downloaded Bumble… and after a few days, added Hinge to increase his odds. That’s where our paths crossed. Brandon didn’t swipe based on photos—he read profiles. That’s where I stood out. I didn’t try to appeal to everyone. I was upfront about my beliefs, values, and expectations. Brandon, who had nearly lost hope of finding someone with shared morals, swiped right. When I saw his photo, I paused. He wore a suit and wore a smirk that said, “I don’t usually smile for photos, but fine, here you go.” He was obviously handsome, with kissable lips and a confident presence. But I assumed he was a player—the kind who handed out charming backhanded compliments like party favors. Still, with nothing to lose, I swiped right. To my surprise, our conversations were kind, engaging, and refreshingly normal. When he asked to talk on the phone, I suggested we meet in person instead.

On the way to our first date, I called my mom. She told me, “You never know—he could be the one.” I laughed. “I’m not holding my breath.” I arrived early and texted him, only to discover I’d misread the agreed-upon time. He was still at home—on the other side of the city. We hung up after laughing about the mix-up. Sitting in my car, I noted aloud, “He has a nice voice. If this were Love Is Blind, I’d pick him.” I didn’t realize it then, but just like how my dad had declared he'd marry my mom after a single encouter, I’d basically just declared I’d marry this man after hearing his voice once. At dinner, I couldn’t tell if he was attracted to me—he was polite, reserved, and a little mysterious. But he was confident, financially responsible, and emotionally mature. I got nervous telling him about my business, unsure how he’d react to boudoir photography. But instead of making the usual tired jokes most men seem to make, he took it seriously. That respect caught my attention. The only red flag? He was a long-time vegetarian. As someone with gastric sleeve surgery who can barely finish a meal, I knew we’d never be able to split a steak. But we did split a lemon raspberry cheesecake—and that gave me hope. After dinner, we bowled. He’d already reserved a lane, and I was impressed. It wasn’t until game two, when he placed his hand on my lower back, that I finally realized that he liked me. We talked for hours. I mentioned my favorite wine bar and, when he showed interest, I boldly suggested it for our second date. I had no idea that inside, he was doing cartwheels. At the end of the night, I leaned in for a kiss. He gently stopped me, asking if we could hold off on more than a peck. Again, I was intrigued. There was something about him I needed to know more of.

Brandon texted me as soon as he got home. I didn’t reply right away, and those 20 minutes felt like an eternity to him. He was convinced he’d blown it by refusing my kiss. We did plan a second date. A few days before, he texted asking if I’d want to come to his house. My brain short-circuited. Either he wanted a hookup—which didn’t match his behavior from our first date—or he was planning something much more sinister. Before I could worry too much whether or not this man had plans to murder me, he texted again: “Nevermind.” On the night of date two, I was over an hour late due to a photo session. I kept him in the loop, but I felt awful. I’d also made a grocery pickup order for 9 PM (the only available time), meaning our wine date was capped at 45 minutes. To make it up to him, I nervously asked if he’d want to tag along on the grocery run. He said yes—with genuine enthusiasm. We had a great car conversation, and he later told me that was when he knew I liked him too. After groceries, I drove him back to his car. He asked me again to come back to his place, and this time, feeling more assured that he wasn't a murderer (truly only a gut feeling since Nurse Practitioners don't take a hippocratic oath) I said yes. I was shocked at how "adult" his apartment was—matching furniture, tasteful décor, mirrors, even lamps. I joked that I hoped he wasn’t hiding a secret wife. We sat on the couch and talked until I kissed him again. After a few minutes of kissing something suddenly clicked. I'd solved the mystery of this man, I just needed to confirm it. So I did something unexpected: I asked about his dating history. Brandon hesitated. He thought telling me about his lack of relationship experience would scare me off. But as he nervously explained, I was the one doing internal cartwheels. I’d always dreamed of being someone’s one and only—and suddenly, that dream didn’t feel so far-fetched.

I’ve known women whose husbands had never loved anyone else before them. In my experience most of those relationships are magical—full of mutual devotion. Sometimes, less so. But one constant is the man’s loyalty. It’s unwavering. I wouldn’t describe myself as “innocent.” I’m a boudoir photographer, after all. But despite my many dating adventures, I’d held to certain moral standards and always protected my future. By the time I hit 30, I figured that dream of finding someone who had never known heartbreak was long gone. Yet here he was. That night, I texted one of my best friends: I just met my husband. Since that second date, we’ve been inseparable. Brandon often says we found each other by luck, but I don’t believe in coincidence—not with this. I believe in prayer. I believe in timing. And I believe that when the time was right, God brought us together. He was the answer I didn’t know was still possible. The man who made everything—every strange twist, every past heartbreak—make sense. He’s not just my partner. He’s my peace.