She sat at the dinner table like a cat in a dog park. Nervous smile, stiff shoulders, eyes darting like a prey animal. And me? I played it cool. Or at least I tried. Leaned back like I wasn’t counting every tiny move she made, like I didn’t already know that foot tapping was her “please-let-this-be-over” signal.

Mom laid out the table like it was a royal banquet. Dad wore his best shirt — the one without the BBQ stain, of course. Overkill? Maybe. Intentional? Hell yes. They were shipping us hard before I even let myself admit that her laugh hit my ribs harder than any punch ever could.

Every time her fork hit the plate a little too loud, I shot her a grin. She gave me that don’t-make-me-kill-you glare, but I wasn’t backing down. That electric awkwardness hanging between us? I soaked it up like the finest wine.

She wasn’t used to this. The way my parents looked at her like she was already family. The way I looked at her—not just the girl I’d known forever, but the one who made my world tilt just slightly off axis. I knew it when she nervously praised the homemade garlic bread like her survival depended on it.

Dad laughed too much. Mom gave me that don’t-screw-this-up look. And me? I just sat there, smirking like I wasn’t thinking this dinner? This is the last puzzle piece sliding into place.

Truth is, I didn’t just realize it now. I’d known for a long time—long before this night—that she’s the one. But tonight was the final confirmation. The quiet moment when everything clicked. When the awkward smiles and nervous glances became something more. Something permanent.

So yeah, I’m gonna marry her. Not because I just figured it out, but because I never really had a choice.