Kendrick and I fell in love on our third date. He'd stayed over at the house I shared with Francesca with a couple of bandmates after a show in Silverlake, and in the morning we put Lucy on her leash and walked over to the donut shop down the block to get breakfast for everyone. We held hands, and laughed at how weird Lucy is, and everything seemed very simple and clear.

Then he went off on tour, and eventually back to where he lived in New York, but in the six weeks that passed between when we met and when we got engaged, we talked constantly, of course - at odd hours, more often than not, because at that juncture in our lives neither of us was keeping a particularly normal schedule.

There was this one time when I called him super late at night (or super early in the morning, depending on how you look at it). I'd been out far too late at some club or another - these were my LA Party Girl days, when sleeping seemed optional. I should have gone straight to bed, obviously, but I felt anxious, almost panicked. Like at that moment I was the only person on the planet still awake. I wanted to talk to someone who made me happier than the people I'd just spent several hours having screamed non-conversations with over thumping club music, and so even though everything I'd learned about men told me not to - don't look needy! - I called him. He was asleep, of course - it was three hours later in New York - but he picked up the phone anyway.