I had worked as a host at Jack Stack Barbecue in Overland Park for almost three years when Doug started working there. I don’t remember meeting him, and I didn’t pay attention to him for the first nine months that we worked together. Then in December 2005, he decided he wanted to make me his girlfriend.

He first started pestering me to go out with him after he overheard my co-worker Amy and me checking out some guys. Doug wanted to know why we weren’t checking him out. “So, what’s wrong with me?” he asked. After a few nervous giggles, I told him he was too old for me. He remembers me saying that he was old and ugly. I know I never called him ugly, but after that, he decided he had something to prove. That December, he began flirting with me on a daily basis.

He asked what I was studying and what I wanted to do when I graduated. He asked about my new car, too. I had been in a bad car accident earlier that year, so he told me about the accidents he had been in when he was my age. We talked about our co-workers, and he kept me up on the latest gossip from the kitchen: who was sleeping with whom, and who wanted to sleep with whom.

I knew he wanted to date me, but I had decided I could never do it. I was 20, and he was 30. Ten years was too much. I worried about what my friends would think, but most of all I worried about what my parents would think. They’re protective of my three brothers and me, especially because I’m the only girl. Would they lecture me about how older men only wanted sex? Or would they ignore him, using silence to make it clear he wasn't welcome?

I also worried about how I would ever relate to this guy. Other than a hatred for snotty customers, what did we have in common? He grew up with Magnum, P.I.; I grew up with CSI. Childhood pop culture references would always be lost on one or the other. On top of that, he was my manager. Doug had convinced the other hosts that he was perfect for me, but what would the other managers say? I had never dated any of my co-workers, and I wasn’t about to start, especially with my supervisor. I had worked at this restaurant for three years, and dating Doug would ruin my reputation as the good girl who loved her parents and never slept around.

Doug was undeterred. He didn’t worry about being fired for sexual harassment because he already had another job lined up. He had never enjoyed his job at Jack Stack, mainly because he had other aspirations. He wanted to open his own restaurant, one without all the problems he had found at other restaurants.

When I had to go back to school, our gossip sessions were limited to Saturday nights, my only shift while classes were in session. Doug worked Saturday nights, too. I always needed someone to swipe a manager card so I could clock in, and he was always eager to help.

I never would have admitted it, but I started to look forward to seeing him. Doug’s jokes could always make me smile. If I was in a bad mood, he would ask me what was wrong. “Are you constipated?” he would say. “Did your dog die?” I always said no to both questions, but his frankness about constipation made me laugh.

One day in early March, Doug was scheduled to work Saturday morning, so his shift was ending when I came in. He helped me clock in, walking up the stairs behind me from the kitchen to the dining room while I wondered if he was checking out my ass. I secretly hoped he was.

But then he said he had to go, surprising me with his departure. I must have shown my disappointment on my face, looking up at him and pushing out my bottom lip. “You’re going?” I asked. He said yes with a similar expression on his face. Tingles ran through my body, turning my stomach as he put his hand on my arm.

I knew at that moment that I had to give him a chance. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I was falling for Doug. He knew it too, but it wasn’t until June, when he had already quit his job, that I let him take me on a date.

When I finally let him into my life, I learned we had plenty in common. We have both dealt with depression, and we have both totaled at least two cars. We both love snuggling in bed, forgetting about life and watching movies until our eyelids start sagging. We both love eating out, critiquing the restaurants and complaining about the poor service.

Doug and I have been dating for a year and a half now. My parents love him. With all their parental wisdom, they can see that he loves me for who I am. I thought I knew my type: tall, nerdy guys, with dark hair and classic, clean-cut looks. Even wearing a tie and a button-down shirt for work, Doug never looks clean-cut, and his wild, curly hair will never be tamed. I never thought my future husband would be the man that joked about constipation to get me to crack a smile.

But Doug makes me happy.