From our Classic Archives, originally published January/February 2004 issue

It was a typical Monday afternoon in February, and even though my law class was still hours away, I was already dreading the very thought of going. As my best friend, Heather, and I waited on her car to be serviced, I complained about spending the evening cooped up in a classroom with my nose in a book.

My ears perked up when she got a call on her cell phone, mouthing that it was a guy she met the previous weekend. After what seemed like hours on the phone, she begged me to accompany her to meet him for drinks that night. He was bringing his best friend along, she said, and I would only be there for moral support.

Upon deciding I’d much rather tag along on her date than find out if a will scribbled on a napkin was binding, she told me all about the “friend” on our way to the restaurant.

“He has a degree in biology and grew up in a town the size of our high school,” she said with a laugh.

She knew I wasn’t one to be set up on blind dates, and I felt even less interested from anticipating that I would have nothing in common with this stranger.

As we approached the table where the two guys were seated, I caught my breath as I noticed one of them was incredibly handsome with big, blue eyes. He introduced himself as Tim, and his lopsided smile made my heart skip a beat. I was smitten, but worked hard to appear as the disinterested friend just tagging along. As the night went on, we played pool and discussed the differences between the big city I had loved all my life and the small town he had been away from a short time.

He was different from anyone I had dated before, and my attraction to him began to blossom. I learned more about sharks and animals that night than I had in all my years of high school and college and was pleasantly surprised to find out that the shirt he was wearing had been sewn up by his mother half a dozen times since the eighth grade.

After several hours, rounds of beer, and laughs, we heard the bartender announce last call, and Tim and I had only the eight ball left on the pool table. He turned to look at me, then back at the eight ball and sheepishly asked, “If I make the eight ball, may I kiss you?”

He missed the eight ball, but as it turns out, he still got that kiss later.

Tim and I were married after one short year of dating and have spent the last few years perfecting our pool game and raising our two-year-old daughter in the small town he loves.

—Billie S. Smith from Oklahoma

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