Chats started becoming more than one word. Sunday nights started to become a routine of seeking him out after youth group. Most of the time he asked questions and I answered with the fewest words possible. He began to wonder if I could even talk.
Months passed with these small conversations.
As was my ritual every Sunday morning (just so I could see him), I made my way to "his door". Not only did he work at the church, he volunteered as an usher during the 11:00 service. This Sunday was like every other, except the conversation. A phrase was added that had not been broached before.
"Do you think I could take you out sometime?" (I don't remember the exact words as I was lost in his eyes when he asked).
My reply: "You'll need to ask my dad for permission." (And yes...this was the rule in my home...being the youngest of five AND the only girl...twas good reason this rule was made.)
He responded, "Ok."
And I thought that was it. Who in their right mind would call and ask my dad? Yes...he is a sweet Irish man, but a papa bear lived under the surface protecting his little girl at all costs.
To my utter shock, he did call. But also went a step further. He asked my dad out for lunch to discuss his intentions.
Yeah...he's that amazing.
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