Like all great love stories, ours began… at River of Beer. Or at least, that’s when I finally noticed Garrett. What I didn’t know was that he had secretly had a thing for me since high school. Every time we’d cross paths back then, I apparently greeted him with my best Resting Bitch Face and completely missed the hint — which, according to him, only made him want me more. Fast forward a few years, and fate (plus a little liquid courage) finally stepped in. We were out with our own friend groups, just minding our business (and our drinks), when we ended up at Thatcher’s. My friends loudly whispered about how cute Garrett was and insisted I talk to him. Eventually, I gave in, and we exchanged numbers before the night was over. After a few weeks of texting (and waiting for Garrett to return from vacation like some mysterious man of international intrigue), we finally went on our first date. I talked the entire time. Garrett listened like a champ. That pretty much set the tone for our relationship. From that point on, we were inseparable. A few months later, after Garrett had started helping with little home projects and proving himself handy in more ways than one, we went on vacation to Lake George. Somewhere between the lake views and the laughter, I finally got the courage to ask him to move in. By then, he had already won over my dog, Marleigh — who now, if we’re being honest, loves him more than me. What I didn’t know was that Garrett was secretly plotting the perfect proposal. He even consulted with his sister to make sure she brought her camera for the perfect shot — because he knows I’m always asking to redo pictures until they’re just right. On Mother’s Day, while I was distracted planning a brunch for our moms, he nervously poured the champagne before dropping to one knee in front of our families and popping the question. Spoiler alert: I said yes.