day 24—call us fiancés

Steamboat Springs was intensely cold. The kind that penetrates gloves to numb your fingers and transforms each breath into a whisper. Yet, nothing could deter us from the slopes. Michael, Trent, and I spent the morning gliding through fresh powder, the mountain ours to explore, as few others ventured into the frigid air.

After a few hours of skiing, we met up with Taylor and decided to head into town. As we parked, I spotted an art gallery going out of business and couldn’t resist stepping inside.

Taylor and I lingered over the jewelry while Trent and Michael wandered to the back, drawn to pieces that remained wildly unaffordable, even with the steep sale.

Then Taylor had an idea. “Let’s go to the bridge for a group picture,” she suggested. It seemed like a simple, routine stop to capture the day before heading to dinner.

We took a few group shots and then passed around our phones to get photos of each couple.

Standing on the bridge, I suggested that Trent and I toss a handful of snow into the air. We laughed as it caught the light, shimmering in the late afternoon glow. Snow clung to our hair as I turned to insist on taking a picture of Taylor and Michael.

But unbeknownst to me, our picture was the real moment. Taylor insisted on getting “just one more angle,” while Michael stood off to the side, phone in hand—something I only registered as slightly odd.

Then I turned back around.

Trent was no longer standing, but kneeling.

For a split second, I thought it was a joke. But then I saw his face, and my breath caught between shock and pure disbelief. My legs folded beneath me, the tears came, and suddenly, I was on one knee too—fumbling with my mittens and words.

Somehow, through the chaos, I managed a yes.

Next was a blur of hugs and frantic FaceTime attempts. Kelsey was the first to answer, her face filling the screen as we tried to process what had just happened. Our fingers were soon frozen, but nothing could steal the overwhelming warmth of the moment.

Celebratory drinks were in order. We found a cocktail bar—Primrose—where the champagne flowed, and we indulged in oysters, caviar, and steak tartare. Our waitress, Julia, surprised us with the cork from our bottle with the date written on it—a small keepsake from the most unexpected, perfect day.

Trent and I stole away for a stop at Laundry Kitchen & Cocktails, still buzzing, still trying to believe it was real. Dinner at Besame was a blur of incredible tapas and more champagne.

I couldn’t tell you what we ordered, but I could complete a 1,000-piece puzzle of the smile Trent wore all evening.

“Fiancé,” I whispered, testing the word, savoring it, as I looked at the man who was not only my best friend, but now, somewhat soon, would be my husband.

I had never felt safer, more loved, or more sure of anything.