On our third date, our food took nearly an hour to arrive. I was irritated and ready to complain. My wife, who was then just someone I barely knew, noticed the waiter looked overwhelmed and asked if he was okay.
He admitted they were short-staffed. She told him not to worry about our table and then continued our conversation. That moment stayed with me more than any romantic gesture. Years later, she thinks I proposed because of some grand realization. In reality, part of me had started deciding much earlier, in a noisy restaurant, while watching her be kind to someone who could do nothing for her.