I Fell in Love With My Man Before We Ever Met

They say a picture tells a thousand words. A voice over the phone was what did it for me. I fell in love with the man I would later marry before we met in person.

The year was 1994. I was recently separated from my then husband. I was no stranger to divorce by then. I’d written a number of romantic novels that end happily, but when it came to my personal relationships, it seemed my picker was broke, as they say out West. The boneyard of my dashed dreams was littered with one failed relationship after another. So there I was, newly single and sitting on my pity pot. Glad to be out of that marriage but feeling like a failure. I would never marry again, I vowed. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get serious about another man even. The idea was to spend the coming years enjoying my life as a single woman. Like the sailor with a girlfriend in every port, I’d be the author with a date for every stop on my book tours.

Yeah, right. We make plans. God laughs.

I’d gone out on a few dates, but nothing had clicked. Which was okay. I was in exploration mode. I chatted with interesting men I’d met while doing research for the book I was writing, or cute guys I’d encountered while running errands or walking my dog. (“You have a dog, too! Wow! We have a lot in common!”) I flirted with TV producers and talk-show hosts (which made for some interesting interviews!). Then I met Sandy Kenyon.

Sandy was my final and fourteenth interview of a grueling, two-day radio talk-show tour to publicize my newly released title Blessing in Disguise. His talk show on KQNA was out of Prescott, Arizona. He interviewed me over the phone, and he was so lively, I perked up right away. He was my third cup of coffee that day. The time flew by and I was surprised when the hour was up. He asked if we could continue the conversation when he got off the air. I didn’t see the harm—I wasn’t going to date him, after all—so I said yes.

He called that evening and we talked for two hours. He called again the following evening, and we talked the night away. We never seemed run out of things to talk about. I quickly felt comfortable confiding in him the way I did with my girlfriends or my male friends who are gay. Except Sandy clearly wasn’t gay. He’d alluded to previous girlfriends and was…ahem, flirtatious to say the least. Not in stalkerish but a nice way.

After six weeks of daily phone conversations we arranged to meet. He couldn’t get away from his radio station, where he was a one-man band, so I girded my loins and got on a plane. I was nervous flying, then driving to meet him at the prearranged location, a historic hotel in downtown Prescott, AZ. What if we didn’t hit it off in person? I knew what he looked like from the video he’d sent me from when he’d been a reporter on CNN. I thought he was cute but wasn’t sure we’d have chemistry together. When I’d voiced my concern to Sandy he’d assured me, “One of us will be sleeping on the sofa, and it won’t be you.” Good answer.

I arrived at the Hassayampa Hotel late in the day. I entered the bar area as the sun was setting, its golden rays slanting through the stained-glass windows, causing the flute of champagne on the bar that seemed to have my name on it to glow. My heart was thundering as the attractive blond man who was seated at the bar rose to greet me, smiling. “Hi, I’m Sandy.” Later, Sandy would tell me he knew the moment he laid eyes on me I was the woman he was going to marry someday. I’m not sure that’s true, but I love when he says it.

I nervously downed the champagne in a single gulp. Giddy from it, I plopped down on Sandy’s lap. We kissed.

We went on kissing.

The rest is history.

We were married a year and half later, after Sandy—yep, you guessed it—proposed over the phone. I couldn’t believe it when I heard myself say “yes.” This from the woman who swore she’d never marry again!

Twenty-three years later Sandy and I are still talking and still holding hands. We have yet to run out of things to talk about. We laugh a lot. He thinks I’m funny even when I’m not trying to be. When we’re old and gray I imagine he’ll still be cracking up at my jokes. I have yet to celebrate a birthday when he didn’t give me three cards because, to quote Sandy “the many things I love about you can’t be contained in one card.” The list of things I love about him is equally long. I love his boundless enthusiasm, his keen mind and quick wit; his work ethic; his kindness toward others. When I wash, he dries. He doesn’t always remember to put the toilet lid down, but he tries, and he gets points for pitching in whenever I need a hand with something. We’re a team.

Never say never. Because, hey, you never know.