The next evening while waiting at the airport, she texted if there were any cute guys and told me to look out for one with curly dark hair; he'd probably have glasses and a beard. No one met that description, and I didn't have a chance to use my new line on the airplane (hello twitching college student who wouldn't make eye contact).
After a week with family, soaking up snuggles with my niece and nephew, good food, time with friends, and late-night chats with my sister, it was time to go back to Boston. On my last evening, I asked if she thought I'd get to experience real love. If I'd have the chance for a family of mine own. She responded with, "Myca, you could be married by this time next year!" A thousand questions about who and when and how and where rolled off my tongue, and we both laughed. A laugh full of hope and expectation and wondering what would happen next.
Little did I know how my life would change just nine hours later.
Early the next morning, I found myself racing through terminal B in Denver International Airport, fearing I would be late boarding my flight back to Boston (via Chicago). When I realized there was just enough time to grab a coffee and breakfast to go, I took a sharp u-turn without looking and ran smack into the chest of a tall, bearded, baseball hat-wearing man with glasses and nearly fell from impact. Thankfully, he caught me and, after apologizing profusely for my carelessness, was on my way in search of breakfast.
I arrived back at the gate, hot coffee and muffin in hand, and realized the man who'd caught me just moments before was waiting for the same flight - cue the overwhelming embarrassment. I boarded first and soon settled into my window seat. When he came down the aisle a while later, we made eye contact - I smiled, he said "Good Morning" and then took the seat next to me. We started chatting about the early morning, watching the sunrise, where we were coming from and headed to that day. It was a promising start.
Before getting a chance to exchange names, a couple came down the aisle and, with confusion, interrupted and asked if he was in the wrong seat. After checking the ticket, they discovered his assigned seat was one row ahead and, with hesitation and regret, he moved.
At this point, I realize there's potential for something exciting, and I'm trying to decide, should I ask this guy to get coffee with me in Chicago? Am I that girl? Do I want to be that girl? Is there anything to write on besides a barf bag??? While weighing my options and realizing he's captive until we land in Chicago, he stands up, looks me in the eye, and says, "I was enjoying our conversation, and I'm not ready for it to be over. If I can get everyone else to move, will you come sit next to me?"
Without hesitation, I agree and hand him my coffee so I can gather my belongings while he helps shuffle three other passengers. A new seat, an introduction, and miraculously, the start of a new love story.
Six years ago today, on an early and cold Saturday morning in December, I met the man who would win my heart over long phone calls, thousands of text messages, and the perfectly timed box of chocolates.
Curious how the rest of the story goes? Part two is here.
