Maybe it was simply dinner.
Still, something about him felt different that evening.
He seemed nervous.
At the restaurant, he kept touching the inside pocket of his jacket.
Once, I noticed him glance toward it before quickly returning his attention to me.
My heart started racing.
I told myself not to assume anything.
But then he began talking about us.
He brought up our first date.
He laughed about the tiny apartment we had practically lived in during our early years together.
He remembered the vacations that had gone wrong, the arguments that seemed enormous at the time and the difficult periods we had somehow survived.
“Seven years,” he said at one point, smiling across the table.
“I know.”
“Feels crazy, doesn’t it?”
“A little.”
Then he asked where I imagined us seven years from now.
That was when I became almost certain.
I pictured the evening ending with him getting down on one knee.
