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Please do not hesitate to reach out to us (text probably best). We are never too busy for our family and friends. Mike: 203.526.6494 Val: 203.904.8865

"Snowmageddon 2022." Val muttered, staring glumly at the Broadway show that now sat as a ghostly "Cancelled" email in her inbox. Harry Potter postponed by a blizzard? Perhaps her magic had worn thin. Then her Bumble notification, like a text-borne knight in shining armor, glowed from her phone, casting a part in the gray skies and clouds. "Mama Chow's?" Mike questioned. "Brave the blizzard with me?" Now, Val wasn't a fool. Mama Chow's pho was worth risking frostbite for, but brave the apocalypse for a guy? That was pushing noodle slurping loyalty a bit. Still, something about the adventure of it all had her saying yes. They battled drifts, dodged icicles, and arrived at Mama Chow's, the only two crazy customers braving the frozen wasteland. Between slurps of spicy broth, they talked for hours, the storm raging outside mirroring the one brewing between them. By the time Mama Chow, bless her winter-weary soul, kicked them out, Val knew one thing: love in a blizzard was definitely hotter than any broth. Who knew a cancelled play could lead to the tastiest meet-cute in Westport history?

The sun beat down on Westport like a blacksmith's hammer, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirage. Mike, his smile as bright as the sky above, knew today wasn't just about conquering their usual "statue run" - a 10k pilgrimage through the town's verdant tapestry. Today, he'd weave a different kind of magic. As their stride echoed through the streets, Val, beads of sweat mimicking celestial constellations on her skin, saw Mike pause on the bridge up ahead, kneeling. Was everything okay? Was he hurt? But instead of concern, her heart fluttered as she began to register what was about to happen. As she hurriedly approached, a blush bloomed on Mike's face as he knelt, transforming the worn bridge into a stage lit by golden sunlight. His words were a cascading poem, each phrase painting a vivid picture of their shared dreams, hopes, and the miles they'd conquered together, both literally and figuratively. Then came the question, a whispered promise hanging heavy in the air, as Val's eyes, welling with tears, mirrored the shimmering horizon. Suddenly, a screech of tires pierced the air. Cars, startled from their slumber, honked in confusion. Their friend Wendy, eyes wide with the thrill and coincidence of witnessing their love story unfold, had thrown caution to the wind and stopped traffic! Her son leapt out with a camera, ready to immortalize the moment. The rest, as they say, is history. The bridge, once just a passageway, became a monument to their love. The honking, a celebratory chorus. And the stolen photograph, a testament to a proposal as spontaneous as their shared runs, as beautiful as the Westport sunset painting the sky in fiery hues. June 16, their wedding day, awaits like a finish line — or starting line — to their gloried future. (thanks to chatGPT for the suspenseful dramatizations)