Our love story starts the way all legendary romances do: with board games and passive-aggressive Uno strategies. We met through mutual friends who hosted weekly game nights — just the four of us, snacks in hand, fiercely battling over cardboard and dice like true champions. For about a year, we were simply good friends, bonding over inside jokes, shared victories, and occasional Monopoly-induced tension. Then one day, I (the bride) decided to shoot my shot. I asked Dan if he’d ever be interested in maybe seeing if there was more between us than just friendly banter and cutthroat Scrabble. His response? A very gentle, “Not right now,” which I handled with the poise and maturity of someone who definitely didn’t question all her life choices. (Spoiler: I got over it…and forgave him). Fast forward a few months: our friends kept getting sidelined by their adorable but preschool aged children (i.e. they were sick every week with a new preschool provided illness), so game night turned into just Dan and I hanging out. Somewhere between snack runs, movie theater nights, and sarcastic debates in the Target aisles, things got...interesting. We had our first kiss in a Target parking lot — because nothing says romance like fluorescent lighting and a trunk full of paper towels. From that moment on, everything changed. We moved in together the very next day (We know — it was fast. But hey, when you know, you know. And when you don’t want to keep hauling laundry back and forth, you really know.). Now here we are — 2.5 years later, planning our wedding and so excited to celebrate this next chapter with all of you.

Let’s just say… Dan tried so hard to be sneaky. I had known for over a month that he’d already bought the ring (he's not exactly a world-class secret keeper…and the constant questions from me probably didn’t help), but he kept insisting he had a proposal plan set for “late summer or early fall.” And weirdly, he was so confident about it that I actually believed him — for a while. Then Easter rolled around. We were heading to my parents’ house for our usual chaotic and competitive family Easter — complete with a full-blown egg hunt, despite the fact that we’re fully grown adults. This year, though, something felt a little... off. When we got there, people were acting just a little weird, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Still, we geared up for the hunt, baskets in hand, ready to sprint across the yard like caffeinated toddlers. As usual, a few eggs went “missing” (a yearly tradition, since my parents never remember where they hide them all), and I got sent to the front yard on a wild egg chase. When I came back around to the backyard, something stopped me in my tracks: our dog was outside, wearing a big silver egg on his collar like some kind of fluffy little mailman. Inside the egg was a poem — written by my dog (because obviously) — asking if Dan could officially become his FURever dad. I was already crying when I turned around and saw Dan down on one knee. Cue full-on sobbing. It was heartfelt, personal, and everything I could’ve hoped for — a little chaotic, filled with family, love, and just the right amount of dog involvement. And of course, I said yes.