The story starts here:
Parts One and Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

My stomach was doing flip-flops, and not because of dinner.
W brought a little hibachi grill to the beach and had used it to prepare a delicious meal; Teriyaki Chicken, in case you were wondering. I hadn’t been nervous while we were occupied with eating. Between bites, we talked about our families, movies we liked, and what we hated about our jobs.
Now full, we both leaned back on our blanket and watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Fluffy pink clouds drifted lazily in in the golden sky, but I could not relax. A cool breeze blew off the water, but I was sure that it was not the cause of my goosebumps. The surf pounded on the shore, but I could scarcely hear it over the pounding of my heart.
I was sitting on a deserted beach at sunset with my boyfriend. It was incredibly romantic. Hence my nerves. This was a prime setting for our first kiss. I knew it was coming. He probably knew that I knew it was coming, and yet it didn’t come. The conversation died down as the sky darkened and the stars began to wink on.
My mind raced.
Maybe he doesn’t want to kiss me yet. He might want to take it slow. But he already asked me to be his girlfriend, that’s not very slow. Maybe I have bad breath. But we both ate the same thing. Oh no, what if I have BO?! That’s it! I probably have BO and he’s grossed out and he regrets asking me to be his girlfriend and he only asked because I was stupid enough to bring up my little niece and nephew’s dumb little argument and he only wanted to be friends in the first place but now we’ve gone and ruined it and he’s trying to think about what to do abou-
“Heidi, what are you thinking about?”
“Me? Nothing. I was just noticing the first few stars coming out. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Yeah, they are.” But he wasn’t looking at the stars, he was looking at me. “You should make a wish.”
“I wish you would kiss me.” Dang it! Did I say that out loud? This was becoming a bad habit.
But then I couldn’t think anymore because he was leaning toward me, his gorgeous green eyes on mine. I could feel his warm breath on my face and I leaned in a bit and closed my eyes. Then his lips were on mine, soft and hesitant…
Much later in the evening, we packed up the blanket and he drove me home. After kissing goodnight one last time on my doorstep, I crept in the house. I quietly tiptoed past the sleeping forms of my nieces and nephew camping out on the living room floor.
Such little angels.
W saw each other every night over the next week. I was going to need to stock up on chapstick. When I was with him, everything seemed right, like I had found a part of myself I didn’t even know was missing. But each night, when I came home, I was a mess of confusion. I had had a couple of boyfriends before, even once believing that I was in love.
But I had never felt anything as powerful as I was now feeling for W. Except, it was too soon. We had only known each other for two months, only dating for one week. I couldn’t be in love, not now. Not yet. Even so, I couldn’t deny what was happening.
It was wonderful, exhilarating, and frightening.
So each night I poured my heart out in prayer asking for guidance, wisdom, and courage. And asking to understand just what in the world was happening to me. The only answer I received was a feeling of peace which carried me through until the end of the next night’s date.
At the end of that first week, W and I had to say goodbye, but only for about a week. My sister worked for a bed and breakfast that was going to be catering a large convention. They would be feeding 3500 people three meals a day for five days. I agreed to drive down and do some waitressing.
My sister lived about 250 miles from me, a good four hour drive. I planned to leave right after work; W came in to say goodbye shortly before my shift ended. When I walked out to my car I noticed that he had placed a dozen roses on the windshield with a note that simply read “I’ll miss you.”
Before I even reached the interstate, I was sobbing. There was simply too much emotion in my heart. I cried for over an hour as I drove along. Finally, I pulled to the shoulder and prayed.
“Dear Father in Heaven, what is wrong with me? Why am I crying? And what is this thing with W?”
The answer came to my heart. “It is a gift.”
At that moment, all of the turmoil I was experiencing ceased. I got back on the interstate with a light heart and practically flew the rest of the way to my sister’s house. When I arrived, I was so excited that I jumped out of the car and ran up her sidewalk. My heart raced as I pounded on the door and when she opened it I screamed, “Julie, I’m getting married!”
She grabbed me into a hug and screamed back, “To W? What?! When did he ask you?”
“He hasn’t yet. But he will.”
To be continued next week…

Need to catch up on the story?
Parts One and Two
Part Three

Meanwhile, W was having his own problems with the opposite sex. As these things usually do, it all started with a simple question.
“So, having spent the last two years without dating, I’ll bet you’re looking for a girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Isn’t that an obnoxious question? It was asked by an equally obnoxious girl; we’ll just call her K, shall we?
Concerned that she might be applying for the job, W answered, “Me? No, not looking for a girlfriend. I’m only looking to hang out and have fun. I’m planning on just dating. A lot.”
That seems like a good answer right? Well this girl was crafty.
“Who do you want to date?”
“No one in particular. Anyone, really.”
Can you see the corner the poor guy had painted himself into? Well, he didn’t, until…
“So W, how about me?”
That is how we both came to be stuck with dates we didn’t want.
Oh wait, I didn’t know about my big night yet, did I?
When I left you yesterday, J had told W about his intentions, but I was in the dark.
Until W, like a good BFF (to me), spilled the beans.
“What?! You’re kidding! He wants to plan a big special evening and ask me to be his girlfriend? What are we, fourth graders?
“I’m not going. I can’t go! But what will I tell him? I heard about your plan and I’m not really interested? I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
In hindsight, that actually would have been the kindest thing to do, but remember, I was only 19 and pretty inexperienced with this kind of thing. Instead, I begged W to double with us, figuring I’d let J down easy on a different day. A day when he wasn’t scheming to spring a huge relationship question on me.
Somehow W was able to convince an unhappy J that we should double. After all, he didn’t want to be alone with K either.
I had to work the afternoon of the big date but had plans to go shoe shopping with my BFF after work.
As a sidenote: the shoes were for him, not me. And they were tasseled loafers. I had never spent time with a loafer-guy before. I was more of a boot-guy kind of girl. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Anyway, the shoe shopping took longer than expected and I was in danger of being late for J.
W to the rescue again. He simply called J and arranged for us to pick him up. He wasn’t too happy to hear that we were hanging out together again, but what could we do?
W drove to pick up J first, then K. When he walked to her door, leaving me and J in the car, J told me that we were going ice skating before dinner.
“Oh, um… that sound like fun.”
But it didn’t. It sounded like torture. I am not exactly what one would call graceful. I had tried ice skating a couple of times and let’s just say, if we happened to run into Tanya Harding, I wouldn’t be in any danger.
Just then I noticed W helping K to the car. Helping her, because she was on crutches! She had sprained her ankle the day before, but didn’t say anything because she didn’t want W to have a reason to cancel. Oops! I guess that means no ice skating.
But when she heard the ice skating plan, she was all for it.
“That sounds like fun! I might not be able to skate, but I’d love to go anyway. I don’t mind just watching.”
If she was hoping that W would sit on the bench beside her, she would have to get used to disappointment. He thought skating sounded great. Oh joy.
On the hour-long ride into the city, J and I experienced our typical awkward silence. No matter, W and I had lots to talk about. BFFs! We weren’t trying to be rude to our dates, it just felt natural for us to connect with each other. We never ran out of things to say.
And then I realized, I was sparking.
Not for J, but for W.
My tasseled-shoe wearing BFF.
I liked him.
I like liked him!
And it looked like he liked me too.
Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones who noticed. By the time we got to the rink, J had decided to sit on the bench and keep K (and her crutches) company while I laced up my skates and took to the ice with W.
Miracle of miracles! I could skate. With W at my side, I gracefully glided across the ice like I was born to it…
…for about three seconds, and then that stupid toe kick got in my way and I fell. No matter. Now that that was out of the way, things were sure to go better. Minding my toe-kick, I tried again. This time I actually got some speed going before a spectacular wipe out in a patch of melted ice. So much for trying to stay dry.
W was so sweet, helping me up and not even laughing much at me.
The next seventh time I fell, I had had enough. I complained to W that I had done nothing all night but fall and that it was ungentlemanly of him to stay on his skates. My pride demanded that he fall too.
“So won’t you please fall? For me?”
“Fall for you? Maybe I already did.” And then he skated away.
When he circled back, I whispered, “Hey, who’s on the date here, anyway?”
He glanced over at poor J and K who were glumly sitting on opposite sides of a bench, not talking to each other, and replied, “You and me.”
He was right…we consider that our first date.

Please don’t be hard on us for our treatment of J and K. We really didn’t mean to be rude. And contrary to the way it may appear, W never intended to try and steal me away (as if I belonged to J in the first place). He just enjoyed spending time with me. He liked the easy way we got along, that’s why he kept coming back to have lunch with me (or take me shoe shopping). And though we occasionally engaged in some innocent flirting, neither one of realized that we had feelings beyond friendship for each other until that night. Poor timing, maybe, but it all works out in the end.
Stay tuned.
More tomorrow…

It’s Valentine’s week and love is in the air, causing flushed cheeks, sweaty palms, shortness of breath, and incoherent thinking.
On second thought, maybe it’s a virus.

Newt has a fever and is having to miss her co-op’s Valentine’s Party today. And I will be nursing her back to heath with Gatorade and Harry Potter. (We only have about 100 pages left until the end of book number four.)

But as promised, this week will be the week that I finish sharing all the sordid details of the beginnings of my love affair with Mr. Frantic.
However, today is like one of those recap shows where you don’t learn anything new, but you hope watch anyway. It’s been so long since I posted part one and two of my story, that I decided to repost them today. New dirt details tomorrow.

A Whirlwind Romance: Part 1

I was nineteen. The past few years had been spent in the painful chrysalis of trying to figure out who I was. I made mistakes. And I suffered.
It had taken some time and a badly broken heart, but I learned that I was a daughter of God and He loves me. That knowledge was everything. I started behaving more like it.
One warm May evening in 1995 I decided to go to a church dance. I don’t know why I wanted to go. Because even though I had decided to make Christ a part of my life, I still had some misgivings about the other people my age at church. The girls seemed cliquish and the guys were weird. Really weird. And nerdy. And weird.
I did not like them.
So no one was more surprised than I was when I started getting ready to go to this dance. I carefully picked out my outfit. One that said, “I’m cute, friendly, and not interested in any of you weirdos.”
In case you are wondering an outfit like that looks like, I lay it out for you:
Black Doc Martins, faded Gap jeans, and a sheer short-sleeved sweater with a modest black tank underneath.
Oh yeah, and a scowl.
So the Princess left for the Ball.
And it was bad.
Bad dancing. (Think Elaine from Seinfeld)
Bad music. (YMCA again?)
Bad food. (Store bought cookies still in their plastic cases)
Bad. Bad. Bad.
Here is where some well-meaning older adult would tell me that “Fun is an attitude, not an event” and I would punch them in the throat.
Or at least sigh and roll my eyes.
Did I mention that even though I had learned who I was, I was still dealing with some issues?
I felt like the girl that gets invited to a party because the birthday-girl’s mother made her. Everyone acts like they want the girl there, but she knows the truth.
Honestly, the people at my church were probably quite nice, but I was really insecure. I was trying to reject them before they had a chance to reject me.
And it was working out quite well. Thankyouverymuch.
I was standing by the table of chocolate chip cookies and red punch when someone introduced me to Mr. Frantic. He was newly returned from serving a two-year mission.
A mission where he did not date or even flirt with girls. Where he did not watch tv. Or listen to the radio. Or read anything other than scripture and scripture commentary.
He devoted every waking minute to God’s work for two years.
The poor guy had been home for less than a week and he was feeling really awkward at his “reentry” into real life.
I could have been gracious. I could have helped him to feel welcome and comfortable. But before I could say a word, the thought went through my mind, “I wonder if this is the guy I’ll end up marrying?”
I have to tell you, I was not in the habit of thinking about marriage.
I was nineteen for heaven sake!
I had plans. Plans that included moving away from my parent’s home. Travel. Finishing up at the local community college and moving on the university. Preferably one far away.
And not BYU.
My plans did not include getting married anytime soon. Nope. Not me.
And so that little matrimonial thought poisoned me against my new acquaintance. I barely spoke to him. We each came away from that first encounter with a less than favorable impression of the other.
I thought he was annoying. He thought I was obnoxious.
Can’t you see how the seeds of love were planted?
Me either.

Part 2

At this time in my life I was busy pursuing both a fine education (general studies at the local community college) and a career (customer service rep at Circuit City). On Sundays I attended a college ward (LDS terminology alert: ward = congregation) for young singles. It was not really going well. Remember how I mentioned that I had a bit of an attitude? To my intense surprise, my prickly personality had not won me any friends. I was considering whether I should continue going there or go back to my parents’ ward (snore).
Politically incorrect sidenote: Growing up, it was the standard joke that all of the people in my parents’ ward were either short, fat or mentally impaired. Thankfully, I’m only 5’1″.
One afternoon at work I received my schedule and noticed that I was supposed to work the following Sunday afternoon. That meant that I would be unable to attend either ward. But I really did want to go to church. By a series of odd coincidences I ended up in a ward way across town. I had never been there and didn’t know anyone that attended there, but it met in the morning and I could go and still get to work on time. So I went.
I sat in the back, feeling slightly awkward. A few people smiled at me but I didn’t know what to say so I buried my head in the program. Hmmm…I noticed a familiar name. That one guy from the dance, my future husb- shut up! would be speaking that day – reporting back on his mission.
A I listened to him speak I realized that he was really a nice guy. And he seemed so confident, so sure of himself, which was exactly the opposite of what I felt. I felt bad for being so snotty to him when we met.
After the service, he saw me leaving the chapel. He caught up to me a grabbed me by the hand.
“Heidi, what are you doing here? Do you go to this ward?”
“Um, no I have to work this afternoon and- actually it’s really a long, boring story. I liked your talk. Welcome home.”
I guess he was excited to see a young familiar face. He dragged me over to meet his family: his parents and older brother. I really didn’t mind, they seemed nice. I felt strange. What was this feeling? The opposite of awkward, comfortable…
The next Sunday I went back to my college ward.
I walked in and no one said hello.
I sat in the back, alone.
What was I doing there?
I said a quick, sort of demanding silent prayer.

Hey, Heavenly Father?
I’m here because I thought this might be where you wanted me to be. And yes, I admit I haven’t tried quite as hard as I should, but still…I’ve been coming for months and I’m not even sure the bishop knows my name, let alone any of the people my age. I’ve committed to follow you, and I will. I know it won’t always be easy, but I can’t take much more of this. If you want me here you’ve got to throw me a bone. Here’s what I need: a friend. Just one would be enough. Oh, and I’d like to feel like I belong here please. Today. Or I’m never coming back. I guess I’ll join all the short/fat/impaired people and my parents…

Before I could finish the bishop came up and said, “Heidi, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Could you meet me in my office after church for a few minutes? I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Um, okay.”
And then that guy from the dance walked in and said, “Why are you sitting here all alone? Come sit with me and my friends.” So I did.
That day I met his friend, J. J was nice and cute. So of course I said yes when he asked me out. Could be fun, right?

Stay tuned…