Our story begins like all great romances. We remember it as a perfect setting, a place of magic, bathed in an eternal sunset. A serendipitous bump, getting us to lock eyes causing time to slow, birds chirping beside a waterfall, the world fading until only we remain. Our love story is the stuff of dreams. And we visit this dreamland every day—1123 Chapala Street, Bartlett, Pringle & Wolf.

Yeah… we met at work. Not exactly love at first sight, or so we thought. We became instant best friends, and that’s all it was supposed to be. But after one too many boba lunch breaks, I realized how connected I felt to Halo. I loved her company and I hated my time away from her. So naturally, I asked her to lunch on the weekend and showed her my best party trick: deep throating chicken wings. Yep, I’m serious. And no, she was not impressed.

I thought that was it. But somehow, despite every red flag I was waving in her face, she didn’t run. If anything, she got closer. She’d ask me to hang out in her car just to talk, come into work on weekends just to see me. We gave each other nicknames—mine for her was “Cutie” (because we ate Cuties from the break room, which are also called Halos). Hers for me was… well, “Dirty Dumb Mexican.” (Thanks Papa Vance)

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to ask, “So… is this a date?” She almost threw up. I wasn’t allowed to say the D-word, she hated the D. That crushed me. But she kept showing up, still letting me hold her, still brightening my days in ways she’ll never fully understand. I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings she brought out in me, so I started writing long, heartfelt messages that turned into my now-award-winning poems.

Despite all my efforts, Halo insisted we were just coworkers who happened to spend all their free time together. Everything changed though, at our first tax season party together. Just a little alcohol later, and suddenly this girl was all over me. Holding my hand, standing way too close while pretending to be “subtle” (we fooled no one). I even got to sleep in her hotel room. And NOTHING HAPPENED OMG.

The next morning, she looked like she regretted it, not that I spent the night with her, but that she’d let herself be seen. Like she felt something but was afraid to admit it. I knew then: I wasn’t giving up. She was worth it. Our connection was worth it. And so began the cycle: we’d hang out, get close, flirt shamelessly... and then she’d remind me, “We’re not anything, okay?” Over and over. And yet, she kept coming back, and I kept holding on.

Kept writing her messages and poems and do anything I could do to show her this wasn’t going to be short fling.

I knew she was scared, but I also knew what we had was real. Eventually, I invited her on a weekend trip to a lavender festival. That’s where I finally asked, “Can I call you my girlfriend?”

She said "yes".

She kept it a secret at first, still embarrassed for people at work to know. But little by little, people found out anyway. We never made some big announcement, but somehow, everyone just knew. I don’t know if it was the constant flirting, the way we always showed up and left in the same car, or the inside jokes we refused to explain, but yeah, I don’t know how people knew, we were real subtle. I didn’t care, I had her. But I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t proud and excited that people finally saw what I longed for all this time: she was mine.