Candles lit, wine poured, cupcakes frosted, filet mignon in the oven, and a bowl of conversation hearts on the coffee table. As the final touch, I placed the red envelope against the vase of fresh flowers in the center of the table. Brian was on his way over, and I was a tangle of excitement and jitters. Valentine’s day, for the first time in my life, was going to be romantic and wonderful, like it was supposed to be. I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't want to screw it up. Brian arrived with a bottle of champagne in one hand, a box of Godivas and a DVD in the other. His smile showed off his dimples – Oh! Those dimples! – and his eyes twinkled as he said “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetness.” I kissed him before he was even through the door; we lingered on that kiss for a moment before we went to the kitchen. I exhaled, calm again. I served up bacon-wrapped filet with mashed potatoes and sauteed spinach. With a California Merlot, we toasted. “This is perfect,”...