"I'll be honest," I began, sheepish. "I don't remember the night we met."
"It was nothing special," he said. "You didn't forget that much," he teased.
"So you say," I returned, skeptical. "I'll never forget the night you met grandma Irene, though."
He laughed, remembering. "I had fun that night. She's so sweet."
"She's always like that, too. It wasn't just because you were there. But she is indeed something special. Just wait until she takes you to the farmer's market," I laughed. After a pause, I said, "I do have a question though."
"What's that?"
"You two were washing dishes in the kitchen, and I walked in carrying dessert plates. And you both turned around and looked at me, and I knew you were talking about me."
"I remember. And maybe, maybe not," he interjected with an expression that told me I was right.
"You were," I told him. "And then you whispered something in her ear, and she smiled, and looked unsurprised. And she asked you, 'Does she know that?'"
"I thought you had a question?" he asked with a sly grin.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her that I was going to marry you."
table