We agreed to meet at Pizza Hut. It was a blustery, snowy Valentine's Day, and I had a date. Actually, it was my first date ever.
I was 14 years old, and to be honest, back then I was more concerned with my grades at school and the newest Justin Timberlake CD than boys. He was in the same class as me and a typical awkward teen boy: shy, had braces, but cute in that dorky sort of way. Growing up in the same neighborhood, Alex and I used to walk the same route home from school every day. After he sheepishly asked me out one day, I reluctantly said okay.
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So here I was, fidgeting in a booth in a surprisingly empty Pizza Hut (who takes their date out to Pizza Hut on Valentine's Day except a teenager?), sitting across from this boy I didn't really know that well, trying to decide between pepperoni or cheese.
Looking back on it now, I wouldn't have thought that Pizza Hut could be a romantic dining spot, but we seemed to have the whole place to ourselves, so in a sense, we were in our own little world.
His hazel eyes had a soft light. "I really like you, Allie," he said between bites. Butterflies (and cheese) was fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't help but smile to myself.
There's no way I could have known that I would be engaged to this same guy eight years later.
You might ask yourself how I went from a middle school date at Pizza Hut to an eight-year-long relationship. Well, the simple answer might be food.
To say that Alex and I love food would be an understatement. Even back in high school we loved dining out, whether it was the swanky Italian restaurant downtown or the 24-hour diner where we met for cheap scrambled egg specials and coffee.
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