It started with something simple. Just coffee. But before that, it was a random night at Tato’s Salsa—two people showing up for a dance class, not knowing their lives were about to change. I remember thinking, "wow, she’s cute as hell." But more than that, I felt lucky. Lucky to have found a community, a place where people come together—and somehow, in the middle of it, I found her. Then life did what life does. She moved to Spain, planning to stay there. And yet, somehow, we stayed in touch. When she came back to visit family, we found our way back to each other—and this time, she chose to stay. For me. For us. We used to say, "we should get coffee sometime.” You know, the kind of thing people say when there’s something there, but no one quite makes the move. Until one day… she did. She showed up at my door with coffee. No overthinking, no delay—just her, standing there. And that was it. That was the beginning of everything. We took our time. We were both ready for something real, both naturally givers, both trying to out-serve each other in the quietest ways. I’ll admit—I was slower to fully let go and step in. But she was steady. Patient. Certain. She showed me, day by day, that I could trust her… and that it was safe to let her in. One of our most magical nights was simple, too. We went to the Riverwalk and sat on a ledge near Curtis Hixon Park. We brought a speaker, some wine, and Logan—and just talked for hours. No rush, no distractions. Just us. Later, we wandered to a pizza shop, grabbed a few slices, and she laughed at how I picked flavors without overthinking it. It was effortless. A year later, we went back and recreated that same night—step by step. The same walk, the same feeling. That’s who we are. We build meaning into the little things. We turn moments into traditions. Since then, life has opened up in ways I never expected. Together, we’ve chased adventure—volcanoes, jungles, and beaches in Costa Rica. Skydiving. Zion. Portugal and Spain. New Mexico, Texas. I had never traveled like this before, never seen the world this way. And doing it with her… with my best friend… changed everything. But just as much as we love the big moments, we love the quiet ones. The everyday. We dance. We run—more than I ever thought I would. Give Logan his daily double-hugs. We’ve built a home where things just work. We clean together, divide life together, grow together. We remind each other to put on sunscreen, to drive a little slower, to eat when we forget. She reminds me to stretch. I remind her to drink water. We take care of each other in all the ways that don’t make noise—but mean everything. When it came time to propose, it felt only right to make it *us*. We had talked about wanting more pictures in our home, about doing a couples shoot someday. So when we planned a trip to New Mexico, I suggested we finally do it. What she didn’t know… was that I had already talked to the photographer. As the sun started to set, he had her walk off for the next pose. The plan was simple—I’d walk up behind her and hug her. But after a few long seconds, she turned around and said, “are you not gonna hug me?” And there I was. Down on one knee. With the sun setting, I told her: “I think the purest form of love is finding someone to notice the world with you. And with you, I have that. Someone to say, ‘look at that,’ ‘taste this,’ someone who says, ‘have you seen the moon?’ or ‘let’s watch the sunrise.’ With you, everything is more vibrant—even the ordinary feels alive. So I have one question for you… Theresa, will you marry me?” Now, every night, we prepare our coffee for the next morning. And every morning, we heat the water and pour it over—starting the day the same way we started everything. Together. Because it was never really about coffee. It was about showing up. About choosing each other. About finding joy in the ordinary, and making a life out of it. And now, coffee will never just be coffee again.