I have a deep fondness for stormy winter night. Nights when the rain comes and goes in waves and in between the air hangs heavy as a wet sheet; nights when, even in Florida, you want a fire in your fireplace to dry the damp chill; nights when you just want to cozy up in front of the fire with a glass of zinfandel and a fuzzy blanket, and maybe a diamond ring.

That was how Danny proposed to me, five years ago tonight — with a glass of zinfandel and a cozy fire. No trumpets or fanfare. No long strategic planning. He had simply realized the time was right, sought out the exact diamond he wanted for me, and once he’d had it set, he asked me to marry him at the next opportunity he had: That evening, at his house. To make sure I didn’t see if coming, he asked me over to help him prep the guest room, since his father was arriving in town the next morning. I didn’t see it coming, and headed straight for the vacuum, but Danny quickly pulled me over to the fireplace. I had always expected a him to propose as we were boating — which had been his original plan, until that stormy winter night rolled in. So instead, he lit a fire, corked a bottle, and fairly quickly ended up on not one but both knees, while I sat with my hands pressed to my face in disbelief that this was truly happening.

“Are you serious?” I asked more than once, before latching onto him in a hug so tight that it took some serious squirming on his part to work the ring out of his pocket.

It wasn’t a sweep-you-off-your-feet dramatic proposal, like being whisked away to Paris, and it wasn’t a cute, Pinterest-worthy photo op. It’s just our story, and perfectly us, and because of that, our engagement couldn’t have begun more beautifully.~ Laura