As Mihali and I walked along the golden Long Island shore, it was hard to believe that only two hours earlier snow flurries sprinkled the sand with silver. Having melted and erased white traces, the rising sun stretched its warm arms across a cloudless November sky and caressed its reflection in the glassy sea. Little did I know that Mihali had been up half the night pleading and praying for the perfect day. So when a zephyr came to part the clouds and breathed hope into Mihali’s plan, I didn’t think twice when I refused his offer to take me for a stroll on the beach.
      “It’s too co-o-o-oold.” I shivered, picturing the icy air slicing through my jeans and sending chills up my legs.
      “Laura, you’re from NY, aren’t you supposed to be used to it?”
      “I froze when I lived here and I’m freezing now.” (Okay, my responses might be a bit dramatic, but what do you expect from an Italian girl with Irish and Viking blood pumping through her veins!)
      “Well, maybe that’s why I’m here with you.” And with that, being a gentleman, he unzipped his jacket and wrapped it around me.
      Fortunately, Mihali is not the kind of man who gives up easily. Unbeknownst to me, he had already invested a lot of time into plotting and planning the perfect proposal. It wasn’t just picking out and sizing the ring, but winning both my Father and older brother’s approval (so much so that when he asked my father to give my hand in marriage, my father eagerly replied, “Which hand would you like, right or left?”). Not to mention selecting the perfect place to pop the question: A weekend getaway to NYC, the place of my roots, where he would literally wine and dine me, through the Manhattan streets; to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, offering personal narrations for the interpretations of Picasso, Monett, and his all time favorite, Salvador Dali; but that was just to get me warmed up, so to speak, to the final destination Mattituck, the Long Island coast where I spent summers at my Grandmother’s beach house dreaming about the man I would one day marry. It would be along this very shore that Mihali would step out of my childhood dreams and write the proposal in the sand.
      When I refused to go to the beach, Mihali suggested that we visit a local vineyard, take a tour on how wine is made, and then sit at the bar and do wine tasting. We only had a few sips, but it was enough to warm us up for a walk on the beach.
      By the time we arrived at the beach, the sun stood in the center of the sky and its brilliant rays were dancing across the water. We laughed, chased each other, I hitched a piggyback ride and then took pictures. Then we stumbled upon a wall of huge granite rocks that outlined the sea shore, and provided a back for us to lead against. It was so relaxing that we closed our eyes and listened to the waves whisper.
      When I opened mine, Mihali was suddenly standing up at the shore holding a stick in his hand. He began writing something in the sand. It was my name: “LAURA O’BRIEN . . .”
      His eyes met mine and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: of our second date, which also happened to be at the beach, where Mihali had written me a very romantic message in the sand, I believe it was “LAURA IS A DORK.” That was three months before, and now as he continued writing my name, I instantly refuted:
      “IF YOU WRITE ‘IS A DORK’ I’M GOING TO THROW YOU IN THE WATER.”
      I got up and walked closer. He wrote a “W.” Then an “I.” Then two "L's". It spelled “LAURA O’BRIEN WILL . . . ”
      “WILL WHAT?” I thought. “What are you writing NOW!”
      “WILL YOU . . .” Could this be what I think it is? And before I had time to blink, there it was caved across the sand in capital letters almost as wide as Mihali’smile.
      “LAURA O’BRIEN, WILL YOU MARRY ME?” A proposal engraved in the sand on the very beach where I grew up dreaming about this man and this moment. He then threw down his artist’s staff, knelt down, and pulled out a navy, velvet jewelry box that encased the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen, held by the most handsome I had ever seen.
      So what did I do? Well, I instantly side-swiped the stick and wrote the biggest “Y-E-S!” in capital letters across the sand. I then skipped back to Mihali, who was still kneeling, ring in hand, and he slid the ring onto my finger. The ring glided on just like buttah! For a moment, I thought Mihali just might have stolen the sun from the sky and placed it on my finger. But I later realized that God took the man out of my dreams and placed him in my arms.