Surprises are my thing. I love the puzzles, the guesswork, the giddy delay of ultimate pleasure. I love surprises that I'm only vaguely aware of-- the promise of a magical evening out, but not knowing where; a perfectly wrapped gift box under the tree, but not knowing what it contains-- but even more, I love unexpected surprises, the ones that take all of your senses by storm.

On the other hand, surprises are FAR from B's thing. He's a gift peeker and a bean spiller and the worst secret keeper I've ever met. When he finished the DaVinci Code two weeks before me, it KILLED him to not reveal its ending to me-- an outcome mostly achieved on my part through strategically placed hands over ears and loud singing. But now that we're together I can see him trying-- actually really just humoring me, like when he plays along with my tell-me-the-surprise-but-don't-really-tell-me-because-then-you'll-ruin-the-surprise game of question and answer. And this is just one of the many reasons why I love him so.

So last November-- you remember last November, right?-- life was typically hectic leading up to our annual Thanksmas trip to visit with B's father and family in Denver. There were stressful project deadlines and packing and maintaining a workout routine and meeting up with friends and trying a new stylist. And after several late work nights and brochures-on-a-deadline and general busyness, B suggested dinner-- just a night out at a nice place, just the two of us. He said it should be a new tradition, a special night out for just us before the flood of holidays and family. It sounded perfect.

We had been talking for weeks about trying new restaurants around DC and this was the perfect opportunity. After so many ideas, we settled on Galileo-- just the name made me smile-- an intimate, esteemed Italian restaurant in the West End. We made our reservations on Thursday afternoon and on a whim I stopped by Ann Taylor Loft on my way home from a client site to buy a bronzey sleeveless shell. B was so casual, but I wanted to feel extra pretty, just the same.

Thursday night we met up with some old high school friends at Old Ebbitt after wrapping some project deadlines and had many strong cocktails and lots of laughter in celebration. Friday was a blurry, stressful day of trying to tie up all loose ends before a 10-day vacation. When B came home after work on Friday night to get ready for dinner, I was exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time. I couldn't wait to begin unwinding with B, to get on the plane the next morning, to settle into a place that was all about us. I took an extra long, steamy, pampering shower, painted my toes rosy pink, donned my new blouse and black strappy sandals, and looked forward to our evening.

We arrived at Galileo at 8:30 on the dot. B was fussy about our seating arrangements and the result was a secluded corner table where we could talk quietly and spy on all of the socialites having dinner. Galileo also has a "kitchen" component to the restaurant called Il Laboratorio, where a small number of guests dine in the kitchen as Chef Roberto Donna concocts scrumptious delights for all to share. Just after we were seated, our waiter brought us an amuse bouche from Il Laboratorio, pate with white truffles, and we sampled with awe. We ordered, clinked our glasses of Chianti, and as dinner began, I immediately began to relax.

After we finished our dinners, we walked back to look at Il Laboratorio where we were greeted by Donna himself and the maitre d´ explained Il Laboratorio experience to us. As we returned to our seats, B insisted that I order dessert-- lemon custard pyramids with some kind of honey lemon sauce-- and we ordered a French press pot of illy coffee. I was so charmed by our Francesco Bonami designed illy coffee cups-- sogni e conflitti, dreams and conflicts-- and their poignant metaphor, that I barely noticed B fidgeting with his jacket.

I'm sure I had thought about this moment before-- as a young girl, as a perplexed teenager, as a soulful adult-- but I can honestly say that I didn't bring any expectations to our secluded corner table at Galileo. And when B took my hand in his and talked about our new tradition and how he thought it should be more than just a tradition, but the beginning of a new path for both of us, I was mesmerized and breathless. And when he placed the monumental blue box on the table between us, my senses were more alive with surprise than they had ever been before.

I should have asked B to finish our story, as from the moment that he popped his important question and I gushed my ecstatic answer and he placed the sparkling ring on my finger, I was swallowed up by the most blissful and intoxicating fog. There was a deluge of tears, a million tender kisses, a gentle whisper of conversation. Our waiter brought champagne, a man across the restaurant gave B an upturned thumb and a smile, and the couple sitting next to us wished us many happy years together. B-- the enormously talented and red-eared secret keeper-- ate most of the dessert after finally regaining his question-popping-suppressed-appetite and the two of us just sat and talked until the restaurant grew noticeably quieter and dimmer.

It's been nearly three months since the night we got engaged and the first thing I do every morning is touch the ring on my finger and smile at my enormous fortune. Sometimes I find B playing with it when his arm spoons tightly around me in those hazy morning hours or when he takes my hand as we walk down the street. And in these small moments my love for him feels voluminous and radiant-- it's as if my heart is a supernova star in the throws of birth rather than the midst of death. Each day we spend together reminds me of all of the wonder and joy that waits for us on our path ahead. He is my constant laughter and my most peaceful solace. My heart personified. My most perfect valentine. And on today of all days, I want to shout this story from rooftops, but will settle for sending it out into the ether, tied up sweetly with strings.

Happy Valentine's Day, B. I love you. Always.