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Tracy K.

He is thirty-four and I am twenty-nine. He was divorced and I was a career women. We met on - our profiles were perfect; it seemed too good to be true. We emailed back and forth, until we swapped phone numbers, and called each other. We talked on the phone for two weeks straight, for three hours every night. I was being relocated to San Diego, where he lived. I thought it was fate.

We met for dinner at this quaint little restaurant for dinner and stayed up all night talking and getting to know each other. He took me for coffee the next morning and drove me to a local lake where we sat and watched the mist rise off the water and the sun shine through the clouds. As we left, we were already planning for a second date. In the middle of the conversation, he stopped me, told me that I was beautiful, and asked to kiss me; I let him.

Five months into our relationship, he asked me to move in. I did, and we were inseparable. I am the luckiest girl alive. One year later, he got down on both knees, as I was sitting at my computer, doing work. He turned me towards him, and said, "If I love you, and you love me, will you spend the rest of your life with me."

He not only had this planned for two months, but snuck into my cell phone to get my parents number to call my dad and ask him if he could marry me. That's about as simple and romantic as we could get. Any other surprising way and I would have known something was up. I am very intuitive, and he knows that. He did it in the comfort of our home.

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