It all began with a dance.

It all began with a dance.

It was wednesday night, country dancin' night. I was trying to think of every excuse in the world not to go but for whatever reason my friend Ashley drug me out anyway. I was leanin' up against the wall, the steel guitar and the sounds of stomping boot heels in the background, and out of the corner of my eye I spotted something.

Something 6'3", blond, scruffy and handsome. Boots, jeans and t-shirt.

Hmmm he's handsome I thought to myself.

The man inches closer to me and out of the corner of his mouth with a country drawl says So do you know how to Cowboy Cha-cha?

My stomach dropped, hands started getting sweaty, light headedness. Either I'm about to pass out or I think this guy's cute.

I manage to squeak out a response.

And so for the next 45 minutes we proceed to chat and to dance, and to dance some more.

wowireallylikehim, heissupercute and other such things are racing through my brain.

And so I left.

yes. I left.

what the heck is wrong with me?! I know.

But after about an hour I said to this handsome man, "Well, it was nice talking with you, but I will let you dance with some other girls now!!" and I walked away.

I mean what the FREAKING HECK. 

Why did I do that?!

So for the rest of the dance I kept this guy in the corner of my eye, praying that he would look past my stupidity and hopefully not take me leaving him as a sign of disinterest and hopefully *cross fingers* ask me to dance again.

But he didn't! And after the dance I moped all the way home, and when I walked into the apartment I fell face down onto the carpet of our living room and pouted and cried some more about how the cutest boy in the world talked to me at the dance and how I would probably never see him again. I was devastated. Never had something so tragic ever occurred. I was heartbroken. The end of the world surely was near after this terrible event.

I slumped down the hall to my room and got on my best pair of cut off sweats, a holey t-shirt, put on my glasses and washed my makeup off. As I am doing this I hear voices out in the kitchen. I realize it must be my roommate and her date who also happened to go country dancing and I figured I better go out there and talk with them and see how the date went.

So with a sullen face I walk into my kitchen.

I talk to my roommate and her date and then slowly my head turns to the kitchen table and what do I see sitting there but the handsome man from the dance!!!!!!!!

Completely disregarding the fact that I currently looked homeless in my holey t-shirt I pull my glasses closer to my face, walk right up to the man sitting at my table, poke his chest with my pointer finger and in disbelief say "Nate?!?!? Is that you!?! How did you get to my house?!?!?"

It was as if he was a long lost friend. Or cute puppy.

I come to find out that he had seen me talking to my roommate at the dance, and also miraculously happened to be friends with the guy she was on a date with, so he oh-so-slyly tagged along with them after the dance to the apartment on the off chance that he might get to see me again.

This would be a good moment to tell you that he asked for my number and we fell in love from there.

But he didn't.

In fact we sat there at the kitchen table for a good hour and half and he said hardly 3 words.

He left the apartment disappointing me again.

What a poopface.

Is he interested or not?! I thought. 

It wasn't until three days later and after he somehow found out through Emi that I thought he was a hunk of burning love that he finally asked for my number.

And then asked me out on our first date three days after that!

(coming up. . . . The First Date)