Twenty-Five Valentine Days Ago

Photo of Glenn and me before we went to dinner on Valentine’s Day 2001.

Valentine’s Day has always felt a little magical to me because it marks the beginning of my own happily-ever-after.

Twenty-five years ago this Valentine’s Day, Glenn and I were sitting in a quiet corner at Windows Over Washington, a restaurant known for its sweeping, postcard-perfect views of the D.C. skyline. Normally, you can see everything, including the gleaming white monuments, the river, and the city lights stretching toward forever.

But not that night.

It was one of those cold, wet February evenings where the fog rolls in thick and soft, blurring the edges of the world. From our table, the city looked like an impressionist painting, dreamy, smudged, romantic in that unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime way. I wore a sky-blue sweater and a black skirt, feeling very grown-up and very aware that something was about to happen.

To be fair, I’d been aware for weeks.

We’d met nearly a year earlier in a training class at work, the kind of ordinary weekday moment that turns out to be anything but ordinary. Our first date was a coffee date in a bookstore (yes, exactly as adorable as it sounds), and we’d been together since the previous March. We’d already looked at rings. I was very much in the “any day now” stage and honestly thought it might happen on Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve.

So by mid-February? I was practically vibrating with anticipation.

This was the definition of a non-surprise surprise proposal.

And still the moment felt perfect.

Even now, I can’t remember the exact words Glenn used. I was too excited for him to pop the question!

Before I could respond, our waiter appeared out of nowhere, mid-sentence interruption and all in a completely unscripted bit of comic timing that would fit right into one of my books. We laughed, the moment reset, and then I said yes — of course I said yes — and suddenly everything in my world shifted just a little.

The ring he gave me was engraved with I love you.

Our wedding bands, when we chose them later, were engraved with happily ever after.

The rest of the night was a blur of joy and phone calls. I dialed my parents the moment we left the restaurant. And then, in true Courtney fashion, I immediately launched into wedding planning mode. Our wedding didn’t happen until fourteen months later (planning a D.C. wedding takes time!), but in my mind, it officially began right there in the fog, with a ring, a question, and a sky-blue sweater.

Twenty-five years later, that night still feels like a beautiful beginning, soft around the edges, glowing with memory, and full of the same hope and tenderness that I try to capture in every love story I write.

Happy almost-Valentine’s Day, friends.

May your February be full of warm moments, sweet surprises, and the kind of love that still makes your heart flutter decades later. 💕