Chapter 1.

It is not my intention to number every story as a chapter, because really, where would one even begin? But this is the first chapter of what has become my favorite story. The story of me, and of my husband, together.

It was February of my senior year in high school when I started working as a cashier at Dorothy Lane Market. If you are unfamiliar, DLM is a collection of three stores in the greater Dayton area, specializing in gourmet and import groceries.

That little detail is essential to where our story begins. Each associate at DLM is required to wear a name badge that lists where they were from. I am still not sure why, but I assume it is so the employees seem like imports themselves.

Anyway, I had been a cashier for just a few months when I started noticing this boy. As far as I could tell, he worked in the Deli, and I would see him walking to and from the break room. He had longish red hair, and he wore black Chuck Taylor All-Stars. At the age of 18, that was pretty much all the information I needed to decide that I definitely wanted to see more of him.

Soon enough, the right opportunity arose. By summer, the redheaded boy was promoted to supervising the night shift cashiers.

One afternoon, the boy—whose name I still did not know—was bagging groceries for one of my customers. In a lull, I finally had the chance to read his name badge.

His name was Chuck, and he was from Los Angeles, California.

How fortuitous. Under the name on my badge, it said San Diego, California. So I looked that boy right in the eyes and said, “We are both from California. We should probably be best friends.”

I would love to say that demanding someone be my best friend was born of some brave moment, but really, I was a girl with a crush and nothing to lose in the summer after my senior year. Either way, it worked to my benefit.

It only took me a moment to say, “We should probably be best friends.” But in that moment, my favorite story began.

Chuck, about the time I met him at Dorothy Lane Market.