Some romances are written in the stars. Ours was written in spilled coffee, caustic banter, and one shocking discovery that shattered everything I thought I knew about my lover who tested my loyalty to the utmost.
The least romantic way I met Jack a year ago was by pouring an iced latte on his neatly piled documents at a coffee shop. I was humiliated and scurrying for napkins when he laughed and remarked, “Guess this is fate telling me to take a break!”
“Oh my god, sorry!” I furiously rubbed the pages. “I swear I’m not this clumsy. Actually, that’s false. Yes, I am.”
His eyes wrinkled as he chuckled. “Then I better move these other papers before you give them a coffee bath too.”
We laughed, and I liked him immediately.
We sat and spoke for hours. His wit, charm, and humility were refreshing. He said he worked in logistics for a small company, and I told him about my marketing position. Nothing flashy or pretentious. We had a simple talk that made me feel like I knew him forever.
“I usually hate when people spill drinks on me, but I might make an exception this time,” he added, stirring his second coffee.
Raised eyebrow. “Just now?”
“Well, depends on how many more times you bombard me with drinks.”
That started it.
Jack requested we meet at his house from the start. I assumed my roommate was a neat freak who despised guests, so I didn’t investigate anything. His apartment? Just say it had character.
The little, dimly lighted apartment was in an ancient building on the worst side of town. The heater only functioned when it wanted to.
Willpower, patchwork, and duct tape held the couch together longer than us. Epic kitchen. He had one hot plate since the stove “liked to take the day off.”
“This couch is, hands down, the best thing in this apartment,” he said one night. “Basically a luxury mattress in disguise.”
I sat down and felt a spring in my spine. This creature is trying to kill me, Jack.”
Just laughed. Take a chance. Grows on you.”
Like mold? I teasingly shifted to escape another spring strike.
“Look, be nice to Martha.”
I watched him. “You named your murderous couch Martha?”
Of course! He warmly patted the armrest, saying she’s family. Additionally, she has supported me during difficult times. Ramen dinners and late-night movie marathons…
“Speaking of dinner,” I checked his hot plate skeptically, “how do you survive with just that thing?”
He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. You’d be astonished what one burner and dedication can make. Check out my specialty. I make great egg-topped instant ramen.”
“Fancy,” I chuckled, but my heart melted at how he could make ordinary things spectacular.
I wasn’t seeking luxury in this relationship. I didn’t want expensive dinners or high-rise apartments. I liked Jack for being himself. Despite his poor living conditions, I was delighted.
Moving forward to our first anniversary…
My excitement was high. Jack had arranged a surprise, and I anticipated something lovely. We might parody a rom-com, a handmade dinner, and dollar-store candles.
“Close your eyes when you open the door,” he said outside my door. “No peeking!”
“If you bring me another plant from that sketchy street vendor, I swear—”
Walking outside, I was surprised to see Jack nonchalantly leaning alongside a sleek, expensive car. Only in movies or owned by CEOs with private jets.
He held a bouquet of deep red roses and smiled. “Happy anniversary, babe.”
I blinked at him. Back to the car. Returning to him. This automobile belongs to whom?
He laughed, scratching his neck. “Mine.”
A laugh. “No, seriously.”
He didn’t return laughter.
He dropped the bombshell.
Over the past year, Jack had been “testing me.” He wasn’t a meager logistics worker. He inherited a multimillion-dollar corporation. Fake apartment. He rented a cheap house to make sure I wasn’t dating him for his money.
Just staring at him. Im sorry… WHAT?”
He said, “I know it sounds crazy,” playing with his hair. Every relationship I’ve had changed after they learnt about the money. Jack-with-a-trust-fund became my new identity.”
You thought pretending to be broke was the solution? I crossed my arms to comprehend this.
“It sounds odd when stated that way…”
“Insane? Manipulative? Like a lousy romance novel?”
Sighing, Jack appeared uneasy. I needed to know you loved me for me. He took a little velvet box from his pocket. And now I am.”
Then he kneeled on the sidewalk.
“Giselle,” he continued, staring at me with those stunning blue eyes. Would you marry me?
Most people might have shouted “YES” and run into his arms. But I had a secret.
I grinned, took the keys from him, and said, “Let me drive.” If what I show you next doesn’t scare you, then yes.”
Jack seemed confused but gave me the keys. “Okay…?”
“Trust me,” I grinned. “You’re not alone with secrets.”
He had no idea what was coming.
I drove us out of the city, past the tranquil suburbs, toward a set of skyscraping iron gates.
Jack frowned. “Where are we going?”
Remember I said I grew up in a ‘modest’ house? I asked innocently.
“Yeah?”
“I may have stretched the definition of ‘modest’ just a tiny bit.”
I entered a code, and the gates silently opened to show a large estate with lush gardens, towering fountains, and even a hedge labyrinth.
Jack’s jaw dropped.
He looked at me, wide-eyed. “Giselle… what the hell?”
I parked at the front of the estate and smiled at him. “Enter my childhood home.”
He blinks. Blinked again. You’re rich?
“Very.”
Jack opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish digesting existential dread. “Were you testing me while I was testing you?”
I nodded. This seems likely.”
“Wait,” he responded, realizing. “You seemed impressed by my hot plate cooking…”
“That wasn’t acting. I couldn’t believe somebody could cook on that.”
I considered him nuts for a while. Jack then laughed.
Shaking his head, he remarked, “We are ridiculous. “I was out here trying to see if you were a gold digger, and you,” he pointed to the mansion behind me. “You had a palace all along?”
“Basically.” Smirked. “We passed the test.”
Jack sat back, laughing. Does this indicate you answered yes?
Tapping my chin, I pretended to think. “Hmm. I guess I’ll marry you!”
He kissed me. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
Six months later, we married in a tiny but beautiful wedding with family and friends. The wedding was lovely, except for our relatives’ constant chatter about how we “tricked” each other.
“I still can’t believe you ate instant ramen for a year,” my mother muttered at the reception. “You hate ramen!”
I mumbled, “The things we do for love, Mom,” as Jack charmed my grandma on the dance floor.
After laughing so hard, Jack’s dad almost choked on his champagne. “You two hid your wealth for a year? That’s exceptional dedication.”
When did you visit Jack’s false apartment? Sister spoke. “He strategically added water stains to the ceiling for three hours!”
You did what? I looked at Jack, who got quite interested in his cake.
My mom sighed deeply. Giselle, I raised you better. What regular person lies about being broke?
Jack and I glanced.
“We’re insane,” he murmured.
“But perfectly matched!” I grin.
Ultimately, that mattered.
Jack and I browsed apartments to buy on his (actual) luxury couch a few months after our wedding.
“You know what I miss?” he exclaimed, nostalgic.
If you say that death trap couch—
“That would break Martha’s heart.”
Martha attempted to impale me with a spring!
Laughing, he kissed my forehead. “I adore you!”
I grinned, “I love you too.” “Even if you are a terrible actor who thought a hot plate made your poverty story more believable.”
“Hey, that hot plate performance was Oscar-worthy!” he laughed.
Instantly, we were ourselves again.
Two unlikely individuals found each other, demonstrating that strong love tales are not always about fortune or prestige. They’re about two individuals who can laugh at themselves, keep secrets, and fall in love over instant ramen, broken heaters, and a scruffy patchwork couch.