I remember telling my little brother that I didn't really want to participate in the competition. He said that it was important – that I needed to get the total experience so I could never regret having sat out. I figure now that I was supposed to be there.

Simon was sitting at the far end of the lobby bar in the Sheraton Premier at Tyson's Corner. I couldn't see him from where I ordered my gin & tonic. Didn't even know he was there. I was too busy fussing with my rhinestones. The organza to which they were meticulously crafted was catching on the barstool. Very elegant.

My fight was interrupted by a heavily-accented English voice asking why I was wearing such an outrageous costume. James laughed a little and quickly exited toward the far end of the lobby bar after I responded by asking him if he had just gotten out of bed. His hair was tossled in a very European-chic, top-of-your-head sort of way that, when coupled with the accent, forces you to be embarrassed beyond your wildest imagination that your ballroom gown is caught in a barstool in front of a very attractive international traveler whose most lasting impression of your country will be you in a mess. Why not make it worse?

I miraculously and very gratefully won the fight without making a huge hole in my outfit and chased James to the end of the bar to apologize. That's when I saw them. Two magnificent blue eyes. Not a plain blue, but a bold sky blue so clear and intense that you can't even believe they're real. They were happy, laughing eyes. And James was introducing everyone from the airline crew – James, Mel, Tony...Simon. Simon. The eyes were called Simon.

I collected myself enough to tell them my name and to explain the dress. I was there to dance. My brother was an instructor and had conned me into my first closed competition. Simon seemed the most interested in my story and I wanted to talk more, but the eyes wouldn't let me. I was afraid that if I looked too long, I would blush and act even more silly than I already had. Why not?

I lifted my right hand and covered his eyes, indicating that it was a necessary precaution to save myself from the eyes. This was one of the most singularly silly things that had ever come out of me. But it hooked him. We chatted through the rest of my break. He told me that he was the in-flight chef on the airline and that he had just prepared a poolside bar-b-que feast for his mates. I said that I hoped he was a better chef than those who prepared the meals that I had previously eaten in airplanes. He said he was. He was called to fly with this crew on stand-by. It was the first time he had been called up on stand-by over a period of two years. After a bit more chatter about how he was born in England but brought up in New Zealand and how I was born in Texas and brought up in Texas and someday wanted to return to Texas, he said he wanted to see the dance floor, so I led a few of the crew to the mezzanine where they could watch the second half of the evening's performances. They all seemed very nice. I figured I was very lucky to have met the eyes – and that was that.

But it wasn't. The eyes were in the lobby when the competition was over and I felt happy to take the chance to get to know them better. For the next eight months we bridged the expanse of the Atlantic via shared email, phone calls, short trips and holidays until married on a whim in Flagstaff, AZ, with my parents as witnesses. Our reception was held in a sushi bar where we shared Japanese delicacies and four splits of champagne. We called family and friends over our mobile phones as we celebrated.

We continue to live as the fates guide us, with our hearts, as passionately as possible, without fear or regret, evident in our recent move to Palestine to open Sabor a Pasión Country House and Bistro. We are very fortunate to have found each other in such a big world. We figure it was meant to be.

January 31, 2005