One Year of Us

One year.

One whole year since the third time you tried to get me on a first date without me ghosting you.

And somehow, that third attempt turned into the greatest love story I never saw coming.

We met in the McDonald’s parking lot in Randolph because it was the easiest place to meet and drive together to the Tunbridge World’s Fair.

You were already there, lying back in your seat—probably wondering if I was actually going to show up this time. Then I pulled up next to you. You raised your seat, turned around, and looked at me. And you literally took my breath away.

I remember thinking…

This one's gonna be the one.

I just didn't know yet how right I was.

We drove to the fair and spent the day together and then our hands started brushing. Once. Twice. Again. That little accidental touch that somehow didn't feel accidental at all.

Until you finally asked me if you could hold my hand. I said yes (thinking what a weirdo, he's asking - turns out you are just a gentleman). And the second our hands intertwined, there was an instant spark. That was it. Something just clicked.

Later, sitting together on our rock on the White River, you were nervous. And apparently, I decided subtlety wasn't necessary. So I looked at you and said: “Shut the fuck up, Jeremy (you weren't "Jet" yet). I'm gonna kiss you now.” You were nervous. I'm pushy.

And somehow, we turned out to be the perfect fucking match. And then I kissed you.

And that kiss on "Our Rock" will forever be one of the most life-changing kisses of my life.

Because somewhere in that moment, something inside me just knew.

I had found my person.

One year later, I still think about that day.

That parking lot. That first look. Our hands brushing at the fair. You asking to hold my hand.

That spark. That river. Our rock. That kiss. And I can't help but wonder how something that started with you trying three times to get me on a date became something that feels so damn permanent.

You've become so much more than the man I fell in love with.

You're my safe place. My partner. My best friend. The person I want beside me for the beautiful moments and the ugly ones.

You've seen my chaos. You've seen my tears. You've seen my stubbornness. You've seen every messy, complicated, ridiculous part of me. And you stayed.

You love me when I'm easy to love and when I'm absolutely fucking exhausting. You show up. You take care of me. You love Cadence. You work your ass off. You make me laugh.

And somehow, you've made me feel safe enough to let someone all the way into my heart.

That's not something I take lightly. Because loving someone this much is terrifying.

It means they have the power to hurt you in ways nobody else can. But I'd take that risk every single time.

Because I would rather have this love—with all its vulnerability and all its terrifying beauty, than spend my life wondering what it would have been like to let myself truly love someone.

And if I could go back to that day, knowing everything I know now?

I'd still get out of that car. I'd still go to the fair. I'd still let our hands brush. I'd still say yes when you asked to hold my hand. I'd still sit on that rock. And I'd still tell you: “Shut the fuck up, Jeremy. I'm gonna kiss you now.”

Because you were nervous.

I was pushy.

And somehow…

we were exactly what the other one needed.

Happy one-year anniversary, my love.

Thank you for trying again when I made it difficult. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for seeing me. For choosing me. For loving me. For staying.

That girl in the McDonald's parking lot had absolutely no idea what was waiting for her.

But she was right about one thing. This one's gonna be the one. One year down. A lifetime to go.