Sorry for the delay! I actually had a job interview this morning, so I had to take care of getting some writing samples over to the recruiter, and then I've had work piled on me all day.

Without further ado…

We’re engaged! I feel so floaty. My entire existence has a dreamlike quality to it. It’s fun! And happy! And weird! In a good way!

The next day, I saw this sign and snapped a shot:

With nowhere to have a seat and relax, we figured it would be best to head over to Lacroix a little early and see what loungey accommodations they might have. When we checked in at the hostess’ desk, they said they didn’t have a bar, but they would be happy to seat us at our table early. This apparently put us ahead of “schedule” although I wasn’t aware of that notion at the time.

We had a truly remarkable dining experience with dishes such as Japanese Hamachi, BBQ Spanish Octopus, and yummy, melt-in-your-mouth pork belly acting as pack leaders. The rabbit, abalone, Kobe beef with tripe (tripe is foul!), and a space-age heirloom tomato accented with oddities like gelatin balsamic cubes and bacon powder brought up the rear.

After our delicious desserts of an ice cream sampler and ‘Imagine a Campfire’, which consisted of rich chocolate mouse and chocolate flakes sandwiched between layers of homemade graham crackers, topped with vanilla ice cream and accompanied by a roasted marshmallow log, we were feeling fat and happy.

Then the waiter walked over with a plate that he placed on the table. The plate was decorated with the word “Congratulations!” scrawled in chocolate icing, and next to the exclamation point sat a faux little blue box made out of icing. We both looked at the plate and then looked at the waiter. He looked back at us and said, “Um, isn’t this an engagement?”

I looked at Steve while he stared at the waiter and said, “Um, NO.”

I couldn’t help laughing, but the waiter was quite flustered. He said, “They told me this was an engagement. This isn’t an engagement?”

Steve looked at the guy and said firmly, “No.”

The waiter persisted, “But it said ‘engagement’ next to your name in the reservation…”

Steve stood his ground and said, “No, it’s not.”

The poor guy finally picked up the plate and left.*

I had to wonder if maybe Steve had intended to propose over dinner but then changed his mind, so the plate incident, well … let’s just say it certainly upped the level of intrigue as to whether our engagement was going to happen that night or not.

After dinner, we hopped in a cab and Steve gave the cabbie an address I didn’t recognize. I thought he had the hotel address wrong, so I said, “Yeah, we’re going to the Marriott.”

The cabbie said, “Well, which is it, [address XYZ] or the Marriott?”

Steve confirmed, “We’re going to [address XYZ.]

Hmmm. Curious indeed. As the cab took off, my mind conjured up a quiet, candlelit corner somewhere, but when we stopped in front of a large, city building and got out of the taxi, I was momentarily confused. Then it hit me. We were at The Phoenix, the scene of the roof deck party where Steve and I made eyes at each other for the first time, the night before Julie’s wedding.

When we walked in the front door of the building, I looked over at the Irish bar, Tir Na Nog, in the lobby and saw Julie’s parents and husband sitting there. I waved and said hello as Steve rushed me past them. The desk clerk stopped us before we could get to the elevators and demanded that we sign in before going up. [Ah yes, we were ahead of schedule.]

We reached the top floor, walked down the hallway and Steve pushed open the door to the roof deck. Memories came flooding back as I looked around at the Philadelphia skyline. On the table where we’d sat together two years before was a bottle of champagne and two glasses. We stood next to the table and I gave Steve a big hug as I started to well up with a few happy tears and a tremendous feeling of “Wow, wow, wow, this is it, oh my God, holy cow, this is the moment!” Then he sat me in a chair, got down on one knee, fished the ring from his pocket and popped the question, and I said, “YES!”

We sat and talked and Steve guzzled champagne and I stared at the ring on my finger and we enjoyed our private moment for as long as we could. Eventually, Julie and Dave busted in with their little boy in his stroller. They had a drink with us and then we went down to Tir Na Nog and imbibed a bit too much, but hey, we were celebrating. And then Steve and I walked back to our hotel hand-in-hand, feeling all shiny and new and so very in love.

*When Steve called to make the reservation, he told the reservationist that he would like a quiet, romantic table, since he was going to propose that weekend. Obviously she took that to mean "during dinner." Next time, I bet that poor waiter will check the girl's ring finger before plopping down a premature congratulations on the table.