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It was New Year's eve. The dawn of a new millenium, when our paths crossed for the first time, or so we thought.

Paul first noticed Randye as she entered the dark yet festive bar. Time stood still, a great wind swept through the doorway, and everyone's attention turned to Randye and her friends. In Paul's usual fashion, he grunted to himself as Randye caught his eye, "Mmm, Paulie likes."

For the next two hours, Paul impatiently waited for an opening; a chance to meet this woman who was mysteriously swept in with the wind. Once the clock officially chimed in the new year, he seized the opportunity to introduce himself. After polite how-do-you-do's, Randye cut to the quick, stating that she had yet to get a New Year's kiss. Paul of course, was delighted to oblige.

That was all it took. They were hooked. During the remainder of the evening, or morning actually, they spoke of music, literature, technology, politics, and all the other lofty subjects one would pontificate, in a smoky pub.

On their third date, Randye cooked a delicious dinner for Paul at her Beacon Hill flat. Aferward, she lured him up to her roof deck for a little "dessert". It was then that Paul realized that he had been to her 4th of July party, six months prior, as a friend of a friend of a friend. They had met once before.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a laugh, then a long, soft kiss. They realized that for the last six months, fate was waiting for just the right moment.

The rest, as they say, is history.