I met my husband on a night I barely had the energy to stand. I’d been up till 3 a.m. submitting manuscripts and had dragged myself to a university alumni
mixer purely out of obligation. I was bleary-eyed, gripping my third cup of coffee when I reached for a cookie and accidentally flung my drink all over a stranger’s blazer.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, fumbling for napkins.He just laughed — warm, easy, genuine. “Hey, it’s fine. Really.”
That moment turned into two hours of effortless conversation. He was an associate attorney; I was a worn-out editorial assistant. It felt easy. Safe. And soon, it felt like love.
