'Twas the night of the annual baseball house Christmas party—an event known less for yuletide cheer and more for questionable decisions and an aggressive amount of holiday-themed alcohol. The halls were not so much “decked” as they were slightly sticky, but spirits were high. Enter Kennedy: dressed as Santa Claus, dragging a giant garbage bag filled not with gifts, but with Smirnoff Ices, because nothing says “Happy Holidays” like forcing your friends into an impromptu chugging challenge. Christian, unsuspecting and tragically wholesome, was nominated by a mutual friend, AP, to sit on Santa’s lap. He thought he was being cute, but Santa had other plans. Out came the Smirnoff and Christian got Iced. And Kennedy? She caught feelings. Over the next few months, they kept running into each other. Coincidence? Maybe. Destiny? Probably. Alcohol? Definitely. Kennedy was living in a Best Western at the time (as one casually does when their apartment building collapses), and after a night out, Christian offered to drive her home. Romance was already in the air. Then came the Cook Out drive-thru—where all great love stories begin. Kennedy, in a passionate, semi-slurred monologue, declared she needed cheesecake like her life depended on it. Christian, seizing the moment like a true hero, asked her out to Cheesecake Factory the very next day. Kennedy immediately agreed, because duh—cheesecake. The next morning, she woke up wondering if she had hallucinated the whole thing, but there it was: a text from Christian asking what time he should pick her up. The man followed through, but there was a catch: when Christian showed up to pick her up for their date… his driver’s license was suspended due to a "little mix up". So Kennedy—hungover and under caffeinated—had to drive herself to her own Cheesecake Factory date. And the rest? History. Almost eight years later, countless late-night snacks, and a few dozen Cheesecake Factory menus later... they're getting married. Still slightly chaotic, still slightly drunk, but wildly in love.