On hints of things to come.
It was our fourteenth monthary, a night to celebrate the months we've been dating. I asked if he would make the toast.
"To the luckiest fourteen months of my life!" he declared.
"And why's that?" I said.
"Because I've spent them with you," he said.
And so we smiled and clinked glasses, his beer and my red wine, and we sipped to the last fourteen months.
And at the end of the night, after french pea soup, beef dishes and the best kahlua chocolate mousse I've ever had, he opened the door of The Blake House and spoke.
"I'm glad I don't ever have to start dating again."
"You don't?" I quizzed him.
"No."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because I found you," he said.
"But we're not permanent yet," I said.
"No? Because there's no ring on your finger?"
"Exactly. If you like it, then you'd better put a ring on it," I said in a sing-songy tone.
He smiled.
"To the luckiest fourteen months of my life!" he declared.
"And why's that?" I said.
"Because I've spent them with you," he said.
And so we smiled and clinked glasses, his beer and my red wine, and we sipped to the last fourteen months.
And at the end of the night, after french pea soup, beef dishes and the best kahlua chocolate mousse I've ever had, he opened the door of The Blake House and spoke.
"I'm glad I don't ever have to start dating again."
"You don't?" I quizzed him.
"No."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because I found you," he said.
"But we're not permanent yet," I said.
"No? Because there's no ring on your finger?"
"Exactly. If you like it, then you'd better put a ring on it," I said in a sing-songy tone.
He smiled.