For years, I thought my husband choosing me was the luckiest accident of my life. Then I found a letter he had written the night before our wedding, and one sentence made me question everything I believed about how we met.
“Well… you’re beautiful.”
I turned around so fast I nearly dropped my coffee.
The man standing behind me in the bakery was ridiculously handsome.
He was tall, confident, and the kind of guy women actually turned their heads to look at.
And he was smiling at me.
My first thought was that he had to be making fun of me.
I looked around for his friends, a hidden camera, or someone laughing.
Nothing.
So I rolled my eyes and faced the counter again.
A second later, he tapped my shoulder.
“Can I get your number?”
I stared at him.
“Why would you need my number?”
He laughed.
“Because I’d like to take you out for coffee.”
I was completely baffled.
No guy had ever randomly asked for my number before, especially not someone who looked like him.
I had spent most of my life being the woman men described as “nice” or “sweet,” never the woman strangers crossed a room to meet.
But somehow, I gave him my number.
