My Valentine and I celebrated at the Eastside Cafe.
He took me there for my birthday ten years ago, soon after we met. Now it’s one of our favorite places for special occasions.
Tonight he chose pork tenderloin and mashed sweet potatoes. I had fried shrimp with apricot brown butter sauce. We both enjoyed a cup of chicken artichoke mushroom soup.
Were we younger, I probably wouldn’t remember–or care–what we ate. But no matter.
I married a romantic. He remembers important dates. He reserves tables weeks in advance. He selects gifts with thought and care. He wraps them himself.
He likes cats and Jane Austen.
And I like him. A lot.