We met in junior high, at a track meet where he was the fastest 800m runner I had ever seen. I knew he had a thing for me when I teased him about something and he spit his mouthful of carrots on me. (I know, right?)
In high school, we were the only two sophomores in an AP US history class, so naturally the teacher thought we should study together.
He got spooked. Told me we weren’t dating.
I told him that was dumb.
So we dated. Then during our senior year of high school, we weren’t dating anymore. We graduated, went our separate ways for several years, but kept in (snarky) contact via letters. Yes, real letters. Not email.
When we finally met up again, we were dating within a month, and married within 6. It sounds fast when I put it that way, but really? It had been a long time coming.
As of this spring, I’ve known him more than half my life.
As the years go by, I realize more and more how lucky I am. He’s my sounding-board. My stability. He bends when I am stubborn. Gives when I take. Isn’t afraid to say no. And yes. Encourages my dreams. Makes them possible. Works hard. Doesn’t complain. Humors my crazy.
He even brings me Heath Klondike Ice cream bars when he runs late night errands. (And if that’s not love, what is?)