Okay, so we danced like a couple of crazed beings. He taught me to three-step and I realized that it was hard to concentrate on dancing, ducking from his gaze and to listen to his questions all at the same time. I was terribly shy and more than a little hot and bothered to be pressed so close to "a hunk of a hot man."

He snatched my number before the end of the night and it wasn't until the following day that I learned he thought I'd told him I was a senior in college, not high school. And that was my fault. I assumed he'd realize I meant high school.

Needless to say my parents weren't too happy about it. It was an honest to goodness real life Dirty Dancing story come to life. Momma liked him, Daddy didn't. It took three months of keeping my now husband away and not speaking to my dad ( I know, real mature) before my man decided enough was enough. I'll never forget the day…

I was out back hanging clothes up to dry–we saved money any way we could–when a yellow Chevy pulled up out front. I knew that truck. No, it couldn't be. I ran inside, but before I could make it to the living room. I heard the exchange.

My Man: "Hello, I'm Ben."

My Dad: "I know who you are. Come in."

And just like that, my to-be-hubby charmed the socks off my family. A year later, he asked me to marry him. In October, we'll celebrate 15 years of marriage. We've sent his daughter to college and lived through the idea of our baby leaving the nest. We've raised our very head strong daughter and a mouthy son–he get's it from me–to be half-way decent little humans.

He supports me in every way possible and we only have the occasional hiccup to remind us that we're still normal. But, it wasn't until last night that everything really hit home.

My daughter had my Bose system blaring and she and my son were practicing their own form of Mortal Combat–in real life. I was about to scream if someone didn't give me just a moment's peace. And that's when it happened…

A man with dark hair and a day's growth of beard with the bluest eyes you've ever seen reached his hand out to me. "Let's dance." He didn't ask. He commanded and I followed. We waltzed to "Baby Got Back" completely ignoring the screaming kids, blaring music, and the fact that my refrigerator can practically reach across and shake hands with my stove. He masterfully spun me around the tiny space and tucked me close. In that moment I knew that he was the reason I write romance. I want everyone to be blessed with a little dose of that kind of love. It's the kind that makes everything else okay.

http://www.rachelfirasek.com