My Two Favorite Love Stories
I've written my fair share of love stories.
I've decided who meets, who falls first, who screws it up, and—most importantly—who gets the happily ever after.
But I didn't write my two favorite love stories...
I lived them.
I'd heard the story enough throughout my youth to be able to retell it.
My parents met in a bowling league for singles, and one Christmas, my flirty little mother came in with mistletoe passing out kisses.
That was the moment that did my dad in.
It would take at least six years before I would enter the picture, and a few more before I would be old enough to remember.
But I spent the next three decades learning what love was by watching them.
The first lesson? Marry your best friend.
My parents were always there for each other. In sickness. In times of financial stress. Even caring for me—they were a team. A united front.
And there was a phenomenal perk to marrying your best friend...
My parents genuinely had fun together.
That was lesson two.
There was so much laughter and joy in our household. They played pranks on each other. They joked around. They enjoyed fishing together and bowling. They dressed up for Halloween and scared the neighbors. They would pretend to be strangers fighting in public just to see the look on people's faces when they ended up kissing spontaneously.
There was Valentine's meatloaf in the shape of a heart. Cardboard signs in apartment windows declaring their undying love for each other. Driving an hour to a specialty store to find the perfect sugar-free cheesecake when my dad was on Atkins.
They weren't perfect, and neither was their marriage. But to little Heather?
They were pretty darn close.
So I learned at a very young age what true love looked like.
The only problem was, I didn't think I'd ever find it for myself.
And the truth is—I almost didn't. I found an awful lot of Mr. Wrongs before Mr. Right finally walked into my life.
I was thirty-seven and one week away from deleting my online dating profile.
For seven years, it had brought me mostly grief, solidifying my belief that I was never meant to get married.
Then, Angel messaged me, and he was special from the start.
My profile mentioned that I enjoyed creative writing, and he was the first man to ever ask me about it. Then, he did something even more surprising: he didn't ask for my number. He didn't ask to meet.
Instead, he asked if he could read my work.
I was shocked, but obliged. I gave him the option of a short story, a 12-chapter story, or a 52-chapter story.
He surprised me further by choosing the 12-chapter.
Over the next couple of days, he messaged me to share his reactions as he read through it, and I loved every moment of it.
Roses, chocolates, diamonds—nothing could have meant more to me than him sharing his thoughts as he read.
It made me feel incredibly close to him almost immediately.
I was so excited for our first date that I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early.
He was already there.
We chose to meet at an IHOP so we could just relax and be comfortable with one another. We talked—sincerely talked—about our past and our heartaches. We laughed like old friends, instantly getting each other's jokes.
After dinner, he walked me to my car where we continued talking until the rain came, forcing us to climb inside.
And still—we didn't have any desire to leave.
We sat in my car for hours until our stomachs began growling. With the rain past, we went back into the restaurant for a light breakfast before returning to the car.
We didn't leave each other's side until I laughed so hard that I started having an asthma attack around 4:30 a.m.
Nine-and-a-half hours after our date started, we were forced to say goodbye because I had forgotten my inhaler.
But by 11 a.m. the same day—we met each other for lunch.
I'd found my best friend.
It's been eight-and-a-half years since he first messaged me—and we've been inseparable for all of them.
Sadly, my parents have passed away.
Mom never got to meet Angel, but Dad did—and they loved each other dearly...another reason I knew I'd found a winner.
But when Angel hugs me and reassures me when I'm feeling down...when we laugh till our cheeks hurt...when he allows me to read my latest chapter to him in the early morning hours...
I'm reminded of the marriage that taught me what love looked like, and I'm thankful to have lived both.
Author H.R. Burkett writes fiction about messy people, complicated relationships, and beautifully imperfect lives.
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