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When we’d been dating nine months, we chartered a sailboat in the Virgin Islands for a week.
I was impressed by how calm he was steering the boat, and how patiently he showed me how to drop anchor.
We’d set up our tent in a flat area that turned out to be the base of a seasonal creek, turned to a pond in the storm. He replied with the most romantic thing he’s ever said to me: “This is my bucket list,” he said.
I laughed until my stomach hurt as my husband moved the tent to higher ground.
I remember telling my mother about the party; when she asked me if he could be the one. I invited him to join my family reunion in Hawaii at Thanksgiving. Everyone in the family loved him, and so did I, by then, but something told me I should hold off telling him so until he told me, first.
He wasn’t the kind of man to rush into wild romantic gestures and proclamations.
By Jan Ellison I met my husband in college, but our romantic involvement was limited to a secret crush and a half-remembered kiss in the dorm bathroom.
We didn’t date until years later, when I was 26, and we ran into each other at a party in San Francisco. He spent time in the pool with my young cousins and my little sister, throwing them into the air and playing endless games of Marco Polo.
My husband became the one to insist we spend time alone.We partner with third party advertisers, who may use tracking technologies to collect information about your activity on sites and applications across devices, both on our sites and across the Internet.