Kent and I have slightly different versions of how we met. I contend it was a blind date (which I was tricked into by my roommate), but technically we had met briefly once before. I just didn’t make the connection until he arrived for the first date.
Kent had an art class with my roommate at the time, and at some point had borrowed a book from her related to the class. She wasn’t home when he returned it, so he left it with me. I remember wondering who this cute friend was that my roommate had never introduced me to. He says he told me his name when he left the book, but I say he didn’t, and that’s where our stories diverge.
Fast forward a couple of weeks later and my roommate starts pestering me about a blind date with a friend of hers. I absolutely refuse. Blind dates are not my thing. So then she asks about doing a group outing with some others so I can meet the guy. This is something I can live with, so I agree. She presents this plan to the guy (who, unbeknownst to me, is the cute friend who returned the book and had apparently been asking about me a lot since), but he refuses. He wants a date with me, not a group outing. My roommate puts me on the phone with him and I feel caught between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want to go on a blind date with a stranger, but I’ve quasi committed myself by agreeing to the group thing. So I do the only thing I can that won’t result in hurting his feelings; I agree to the date. Imagine my delight when he picks me up at the appointed time and I discover that it is none other than Cute Book Returning Guy! The rest is history. We were engaged six months later and married a year after that.
And the fate of the book that resulted in that first chance encounter? Kent later bought it from my roommate (“A Century of Modern Painting”) and it has been in our possession ever since. He’s sentimental that way, and I love him for it.