Any churchgoer is probably familiar with the dreaded three-minute meet-and-greet. For what is quite possibly the longest and most awkward three minutes of your life, you must make eye contact and shake hands with as many people as you can before the pastor hops on stage.

For some, it’s an excuse to run to the bathroom. That’s what Peter usually does. Except that he sat next to Hope, who was visiting San Francisco from Paris, and she asked him a question.

It wasn’t “what do you do?” or “how long have you been coming here?” or “are you from the neighborhood?”

Hope shook his hand, (and I imagine, knowing her) looked him dead in the eyes, and asked, “What are you passionate about?”

The service went on, and at the end, Peter went to receive prayer.

As he puts it, the prayer team member was a 20-minute-prayer kind of guy. And Peter kept thinking that he wanted to talk to Hope after the service.

Ready to leave but finding herself without a business card, Hope scribbled her Instagram on the back of a Mrs. Grossman’s Animal Party sticker for Peter and left it on his journal.

The service ended, and prayer-team-member was still praying. Hope disappeared, but he found the stickers. That’s not the end.

He looked up her Instagram and they connected. A few nights later, Peter showed up at Hope’s poetry reading with a fresh loaf of bread. That’s when she wrote back to Paris with a tale of Bread Boy. A Bread Boy who was also a poet, artist, and someone who would change his flight for the chance to have a morning coffee with her.

The coffee happened the day before her flight to Paris. Six month later, she learned about the flight change.

If that’s not love…what is? I had the loveliest afternoon two days before quarantine wandering down the Seine with these two artists who danced in the street, spoke poetry into the sunset, and fell into a perfect step.