This is a long time coming.
This is a story about a boy named Tom. I should let you know from the start that this is a love story.
A perfectly pleasant Saturday morning, May 7, three years to the day after said Tom left on his mission to South Korea, we decided to make our weekly temple date the Salt Lake temple. We had a great time, thoroughly enjoying how beautiful it is. After Tom took forever to get dressed, we took a stroll around the grounds, and he let me talk to the gaggle of Taiwanese missionaries on Temple Square.
As we were walking back to our car, crossing State Street, Tom asked if I wanted to hear a funny story.
I said, sure.
He began. "There was a boy named Tom. And he loved a girl named Anne. And he began thinking about how he was going to ask the love of his life to marry him."
I couldn't tell you exactly what was said after that.
I can tell you he began to name all the places we had memories together and then listed his reason for deciding not to propose there. All the while we were strolling into this small park across the street from Temple Square where miraculously no one was. We walked right into his trap, a little Tiffany blue blanket laid out with my favorite Taiwanese drink and sushi. Amid all the other swirling thoughts my brain was offering up, I thought "We can't go up here! Someone's already here!"
I'm just a dunce. A classic fool.
Eventually we stopped walking. He ended by saying no matter where it was that he asked her, it would become a special place to them. Actually, I believe he said us. Somewhere along the way he must have lost the third person. And it was fine, because let's be honest. No one wants a third person at their proposal.
"He just had to ask her one thing:
Anne Roper. Will you marry me?"
Anne Roper: "Of course."
And there you have it. That's amore.