I remember the first time you talked to me. Like all church kids, we were spending time in a large group. It was Fall, and I had decided last minute to catch a ride with some friends and come to the Cider Mill on a Sunday afternoon. I was happy to see you there, tall and constantly on the move. You would flit from place to place, talking to everyone, making them laugh. I desperately wanted you to talk to me, too. I got my food and sat on a hay bell next to one of your friends. Your friend and I talked for a little bit, and then the three of us figured out we had one thing in common--we were all Starbucks baristas.
I remember the first time we spent time together. You invited me and a friend over and I almost didn't go. I was nervous and wanted to change my mind, I thought a Starbuck's White Mocha and K-State football on TV sounded safer. My friend talked me into meeting you, and after she helped me pick out an outfit we did. We watched "What Women Want." I was so thrilled to be near you.
I remember a lot of happy times with you, and the happiest time wasn't our wedding day, or even the first day I woke up as Mrs. Danielle Melton. I think the happiest times with you is when you pick me up for lunch, give me a kiss and a break from my life as a helper. When you tell me to keep writing and you remind me to never give up on my dreams. When we plan our future adventures together and imagine all the possibilities we have ahead of us. When I come through the Starbucks drive-thru just so I can hold your hand at the window and tell you I love you. When we eat dinner on the floor, or when you surprise me and drive me to the lake so we can listen to the waves as we eat sandwiches. When you text me inside jokes from when we were dating, and when you remember to buy me dark chocolate at the store.
Happy 11 months of marriage, you. You're my favorite and there's still no one like you ever at all.
