I was talking to a fairly new friend about the upcoming WV Writers Conference and I mentioned that’s where Geoff and I met. I was telling her the story and she asked me to post the column I wrote about it back then, almost two years ago.

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It started because of the rain. Because our bonfire was canceled. Because my friends Krista, Judy and I needed shelter in a hurry. Voices from a nearby cabin porch–fellow writers attending the same conference–called to us, “Over here.”

As the rain poured that June night, we talked with those porch-dwellers, enjoying the pleasant chemistry between our group and theirs. It wasn’t a physical chemistry, as nearly all were married or attached, but one of similar humor and overlapping interests.

As for me, my marriage had ended months earlier. My divorce had been final that week. During the painful times leading up to that night, I’d sworn off men forever, pronounced my heart hardened. It seemed easy–and sensible–to plan for a life with just my daughter and me. I determined the only males in our home would be furry ones (ones we could legally neuter).

But my eyes kept meeting his. Blue-gray eyes. Black lashes. Shy smile.

Throughout that evening and the next day, there were more looks, more smiles, more maneuvering to be in the same places at the same times.

And then another rained-out bonfire. And we were all back on that porch.

We sat side by side and talked, our hands “accidentally” brushing each other when we’d reach for our drinks. When the rain ended, we went for a group walk, and then a just-the-two-of-us walk. We stopped to sit on a bench by the lake, where we talked, oblivious of the time, until the sun began to come up.

We laughed about the schmaltziness of having talked all night, then went our separate ways.

A week later, he drove nearly three hours to take me to dinner and a Mountain Stage concert before driving another three hours back home. A week after that, he drove half as far just to see me for an hour when I had business nearby.

And so began our cautious courtship, one that baffled us both for seeming too easy, for being devoid of awkwardness or conflicts right from the start. We had each traveled vastly different roads in our lives, yet seemed to have arrived at the same point at the same time.

Even so, I was guarded, as there was another whose heart would need winning over as well: my six-year-old daughter. (My dog and cat had already given enthusiastic stamps of approval, both regularly choosing Geoff’s lap over mine.) But I’d been cautious with Celeste, waiting five months before introducing the two, wanting to be certain of my feelings before risking hers.

Yet there’d been nothing to fear. Within minutes, she was decorating him with feather boa and princess hat. Within hours, they were engrossed in lying competitions. She soon took me aside and whispered, “You can keep him.” That same night, the confirmed bachelor leaned over to me and said, “So this is what I’ve been missing.”

Last weekend, Geoff and I attended the same WV Writers conference at Cedar Lakes where we met last summer. There were the same friends on the same porch, and the same late-night walk down that path to the same bench by the lake.

And that’s when he dropped down on one knee.

And when my answer was yes.

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