Three years ago we went on our first date.
You didn't know it at the time.
I'm not sure I did either.
But I'm calling it a date.
The week prior, I stumbled onto a cute lil bar called The Royal.
It had the perfect patio with open doors and nobody knew about it yet so it felt private.
It was a fall Friday and we were in weekend mode.
We snagged beers (you bought) and I struggled to keep my camera out of your face.
I look back on this video and get immediately embarrassed. Between begging me to stop the photoshoot you asked if I had seen the girl over your shoulder which caused me to go wingman mode and offer you up to everyone I knew via Instagram post. "Okay ladies, one at a time. Please form a line along this wall. He'll call your name when he's ready."
My eyes roll to the back of my head when I think about it.
I was giddy. Fresh off a full summer of stealing every spare moment I could with you.
I was starting to see that spark in the way you looked at me and our energy was so magnetic I couldn't believe that other people couldn't feel it.
I prayed nobody took me up on that offer because, in reality, I was the first girl in line dying for you to turn around and see me.
It took a few harder pitches and a bit more persistence, but I landed the plane.
Three years of dates later and my stomach still knots up when see you sitting across from me.
I'm still giddy that I get to be the person that occupies your attention.
Three years of "us" later and I promise I'll always be the first one in line.
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