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I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to marry you right then. 

We sat in a cozy booth in the corner, shared that hot apple pie and cheered to adulthood. The check came too quickly, and neither one of us wanted the night to be over, so you suggested a walk, and I couldn’t have been happier. I still remember walking in the cool November air that night and the way it felt on my skin. I mentioned how cold it was, to which you immediately made your best Rico Suave face, ripped off your big leather jacket in slow motion, placed it around my shoulders while you raised your eyebrow and, without missing a beat, replied, “I’ll keep you warm.” We both laughed at what almost became the most cliche high-school-date-moment of our lives, and I knew in that moment we were going to be best friends. Nobody made me laugh like you. We walked and talked for hours. About everything.

And there we were, seniors in high school, and all I could think about was the fourteen year-old-version of me. The one who noticed you on the very first day of high school. But didn’t tell you. Of course. Because when you’re fourteen and the boy with golden brown skin and a smile to kill walks into your English class, the only thing to do is… absolutely nothing. I mean, you tell your best friend about it right after school, and then never utter a word about it again. When you’re fourteen, you never suspect that three years later you’ll be on his arm at the senior prom. And that he’ll write you into his graduation speech. And that you’ll spend the next four years growing up together before he’s waiting for you at the end of the aisle. But that’s how it happened. That’s our story, you and me.

And that night that I walked through our door and told you I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, you didn’t hesitate. You found a way to make it happen. You picked up an extra job to save money for our first camera. You surprised me on Christmas morning with the camera of my dreams and you told me you were in. That you were all in. That we were going to make this work, you and me. You’ve always believed in me. In us. You believed in us and our big scary dreams, and I will never be able to thank you for that. 

But those dreams? They weren’t easy. They were bigger and more out of reach than we ever imagined. We were newlyweds living on teacher salaries and a prayer. 

We started with nothing. No website. No bookings. No clients. We ate soggy sandwiches at our desks and graded math tests while we wondered if there was really room for two more wedding photographers in this city, and spent every hour that we weren’t in the classroom learning. And hustling. And grinding. Slowly, the bookings started to come and the hours started to get longer. The bags under our eyes started to get bigger. And our bodies started to give in.

I’ll never forget that fall of 2012. I was sick as a dog. My kleenex needed kleenex. I had been on antibiotics long enough to prevent being contagious, but not long enough to prevent the feeling that I had been hit by a truck. It was not pretty. Parent teacher conferences had gotten the best of me, and our little photography business had taken the rest. But none of that mattered.

Because it was a wedding day. I resolved to cling tightly to the adrenaline that comes from a wedding day high, and committed to being as professional and as normal as ever. And, together, we did it. We laughed with the bridesmaids, found the perfect place to hang the dress, swooned over the beautiful bride and groom, directed family photos, made sure to stay on the timeline, captured each moment of the ceremony, and spent the reception dancing the night away with camera in hand until the clock struck midnight.  

And not one person knew that your pockets were full of my tissues. 

As you found me in front of the sink at home that night, kleenex all around me, tears streaking down my face, in a state of exhaustion I had never felt before, you didn’t miss a beat. You instinctively wrapped your arms around me and you held me. You let me cry into your best tie, as you lowered us both onto that cold bathroom tile and told me it was going to be okay. You ignored my blotchy, tear-stained face, and told me I was beautiful. You told me you had never been more proud of me. You were proud of the snot-nosed, red-faced mess formerly known as your wife. You were proud of me. You were proud of us. And all that we’d worked for. In that moment, we had to decide whether we were all in. And it was the same moment I decided I had never loved you more.

Thank you for being the man with my tissues in your pocket.

Because here we are, three years later, doing things we used to only dream about. 

We have a packed schedule filled with luxury weddings and joyful couples. Our work has been featured in People Magazine (and our mothers’ refrigerators). We teach sold-out workshops, travel the country and have the privilege of helping other photographers build and live their dream, too. I just never could’ve pictured this life that night when we were crying together on the bathroom floor. 

I will never be able to thank you enough. 

For believing in us. 

For being the man who always makes me laugh and always makes me dinner. 

For carrying all of our bags when we travel, or letting me steal your big sweatshirts and sleep on your shoulder. Thank you for knowing our daily itinerary and the balance in our retirement accounts and when to change the oil. 

Thank you for always having the right answers to tough questions like “Which earrings?” and for making me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. 

The man who holds my hand in church, sings with me in the car, and, most of all, the man who makes me proud. The one who makes me better.

How did I get so lucky? I can’t help but smile when I think all of this started that night. In the corner booth. At Applebee’s. Those two high school kids never could’ve dreamed what their life would look like now. 

And the best part? This adventure of ours? It’s just getting started.

So when I heard it was your birthday, I knew it was my turn to make sure we wound up spending it together. And it wasn’t just any birthday. You were turning eighteen. Eighteen. The number that tells us we are old enough to enlist, but still have to be home before midnight. The age of “I voted” stickers and “Will you go to prom with me?” That weird in-between number where the rules declare that we are adults while our parents roll their eyes at the very thought. Regardless, eighteen was a big deal, and I made sure we would spend your first day of being an official grown up together.

It was a school night, and we both had practice. You, soccer. Me, dance rehearsals. But we weren’t going to let that get in the way. I convinced you that I at least needed to buy you some birthday boy dessert (a tradition that still persists to this day), so you agreed and let me take you out to satisfy your sweet tooth craving. You told me you loved apple pie, so naturally, I suggested Applebee’s. 

You know, the romance capital of the world. 

The restaurant of dreams.

You even drove a batch of “homemade” brownies from your kitchen all the way to my house at nine o’ clock at night, and then later confessed they weren’t really homemade at all.

Did you study for that test? Me neither.
I think I could use a study partner.

Do you need a ride home?

You should really meet my dog.

I still remember the first birthday that we celebrated together. It was just days after the homecoming dance, and we were making up any excuse we could think of to see each other.

Dear Jordan
Meet the Sweethearts

- Amy

class, the only thing to do is… absolutely nothing. I mean, you tell your best friend about it right after school, and then never utter a word about it again. When you’re fourteen, you never suspect that three years later you’ll be on his arm at the senior prom. And that he’ll write you into his graduation speech. And that you’ll spend the next four years growing up together before he’s waiting for you at the end of the aisle. But that’s how it happened. That’s our story, you and me.

And that night that I walked through our door and told you I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, you didn’t hesitate. You found a way to make it happen. You picked up an extra job to save money for our first camera. You surprised me on Christmas morning with the camera of my dreams and you told me you were in. That you were all in. That we were going to make this work, you and me. You’ve always believed in me. In us. You believed in us and our big scary dreams, and I will never be able to thank you for that. 

But those dreams? They weren’t easy. They were bigger and more out of reach than we ever imagined. We were newlyweds living on teacher salaries and a prayer. 

I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to marry you right then. 

We sat in a cozy booth in the corner, shared that hot apple pie and cheered to adulthood. The check came too quickly, and neither one of us wanted the night to be over, so you suggested a walk, and I couldn’t have been happier. I still remember walking in the cool November air that night and the way it felt on my skin. I mentioned how cold it was, to which you immediately made your best Rico Suave face, ripped off your big leather jacket in slow motion, placed it around my shoulders while you raised your eyebrow and, without missing a beat, replied, “I’ll keep you warm.” We both laughed at what almost became the most cliche high-school-date-moment of our lives, and I knew in that moment we were going to be best friends. Nobody made me laugh like you. We walked and talked for hours. About everything.

And there we were, seniors in high school, and all I could think about was the fourteen year-old-version of me. The one who noticed you on the very first day of high school. But didn’t tell you. Of course. Because when you’re fourteen and the boy with golden brown skin and a smile to kill walks into your English

bride and groom, directed family photos, made sure to stay on the timeline, captured each moment of the ceremony, and spent the reception dancing the night away with camera in hand until the clock struck midnight.

And not one person knew that your pockets were full of my tissues.

As you found me in front of the sink at home that night, kleenex all around me, tears streaking down my face, in a state of exhaustion I had never felt before, you didn’t miss a beat. You instinctively wrapped your arms around me and you held me. You let me cry into your best tie, as you lowered us both onto that cold bathroom tile and told me it was going to be okay. You ignored my blotchy, tear-stained face, and told me I was beautiful. You told me you had never been more proud of me. You were proud of the snot-nosed, red-faced mess formerly known as your wife. You were proud of me. You were proud of us. And all that we’d worked for. In that moment, we had to decide whether we were all in. And it was the same moment I decided I had never loved you more.

We started with nothing. No website. No bookings. No clients. We ate soggy sandwiches at our desks and graded math tests while we wondered if there was really room for two more wedding photographers in this city, and spent every hour that we weren’t in the classroom learning. And hustling. And grinding. Slowly, the bookings started to come and the hours started to get longer. The bags under our eyes started to get bigger. And our bodies started to give in.

I’ll never forget that fall of 2012. I was sick as a dog. My kleenex needed kleenex. I had been on antibiotics long enough to prevent being contagious, but not long enough to prevent the feeling that I had been hit by a truck. It was not pretty. Parent teacher conferences had gotten the best of me, and our little photography business had taken the rest. But none of that mattered.

Because it was a wedding day. I resolved to cling tightly to the adrenaline that comes from a wedding day high, and committed to being as professional and as normal as ever. And, together, we did it. We laughed with the bridesmaids, found the perfect place to hang the dress, swooned over the beautiful

- Amy

knowing our daily itinerary and the balance in our retirement accounts and when to change the oil.

Thank you for always having the right answers to tough questions like “Which earrings?” and for making me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

The man who holds my hand in church, sings with me in the car, and, most of all, the man who makes me proud. The one who makes me better.

How did I get so lucky? I can’t help but smile when I think all of this started that night. In the corner booth. At Applebee’s. Those two high school kids never could’ve dreamed what their life would look like now.

And the best part? This adventure of ours? It’s just getting started.

Thank you for being the man with my tissues in your pocket.

Because here we are, three years later, doing things we used to only dream about.

We have a packed schedule filled with luxury weddings and joyful couples. Our work has been featured in People Magazine (and our mothers’ refrigerators). We teach sold-out workshops, travel the country and have the privilege of helping other photographers build and live their dream, too. I just never could’ve pictured this life that night when we were crying together on the bathroom floor.

I will never be able to thank you enough.

For believing in us.

For being the man who always makes me laugh and always makes me dinner.

For carrying all of our bags when we travel, or letting me steal your big sweatshirts and sleep on your shoulder. Thank you for

I can cook you anything you want for dinner... as long as it's mac n' cheese.

My sweet tooth tells all the other ones what to do.

I spent most of my childhood summers in the pool pretending to be the Little Mermaid.

I grew up in the dance studio. Now, I just dance in the living room. And in the car. And anytime Taylor Swift comes on.

I know almost every line of Mean Girls… and strive to incorporate them into everyday life.

Is butter a carb?

I only had one boyfriend in my life, and I was pretty excited when he asked me to marry him.

If I could have dinner with one famous person, it’d be Tim Gunn. If you know him by any chance, let's make it work!

I love shooting details on wedding days. The little things make my heart skip a beat.

One of my proudest life moments: getting Dave Ramsey in the middle of a #DemosSandwich.

I’ve been saved by grace and try my best to love people the way Christ loves me.

I cuddle up in bed with Mr. Carson (our cat) every night. 
I hope he never grows out of it.

Next
Previous
Amy Demos
Quick Facts

No matter how much I eat, there's always room for ice cream. And a waffle cone.

I’m proud of my Greek roots. Opa! 

I’m a political junkie, West Wing addict, and could watch the movie The American President every day.

When I was little, I wanted to grow up to be a Ninja Turtle. I’m still waiting for the call.

I was voted Most Likely to be President in high school, and I still haven’t given up on that idea. Wouldn’t Amy make the cutest First Lady?

I’m really good at voices, accents, and impressions, but I can’t sing on key to save my life.

If cleaning was an Olympic sport, I’d take down Danny Tanner and the Oxi Clean guy with one bottle of Windex tied behind my back.

Most days, I’m really motivated to exercise. Until almost anything else comes up.

I grew up on the soccer field, so every four years when the World Cup comes around, I disappear for a month. With a drum. Face paint. And an American flag.

I can hang an A-line wedding dress, fasten a veil, identify shades of blush and mint on a color wheel, and pin boutonnieres like a boss.

I thank God every day for my wife. She’s the color in my world, the cookie to my butter, and the Lorelei to my Luke.

Next
Previous
Jordan Demos
Quick Facts
From “I Noticed You” to “I Do.”
The Beginning
Next
Previous

they must sprinkle just a dash of crack on these.

Anthropologie Candles

02

oy with the poodles already!

Gilmore Girls

03

he taught us to live like no one else, so later we can live and give like no one else.

Dave Ramsey

04

because when we joined the wedding industry, the cargo shorts and flip-flops had to go.

Bow Ties & Pocket Squares

05

no explanation needed. 
the girls get it.

Statement Necklaces & scarves

06

who don't judge us... 
when we don't shower.

Our Cats

07

we like it... a latte.

Starbucks

08

hamilton is at the top of our list. les mis and wicked are tied for second.

Broadway

09

he loves red. 
she loves white.

Wine

10

Top Ten
The