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Christy Hill

Wedding Celebration 

Ceremony

Cocktail Hour

Reception Dinner

After Dinner Reception on the Terrace

Old Post Office Cafe

Brunch

Spring

Our Wedding

If not for an unexpectedly swift round of golf and the unfortunate scarcity of Ann Taylor Loft stores in San Francisco, our paths might never have crossed! I (Mike) somehow played the round of my life—though, for the sake of credibility, let’s not ask my golf buddies to verify that claim. Finishing early for once, I seized the opportunity for a timely lunch at my favorite spot, HopMonk. That’s when I saw her—this stunning woman, sitting alone. My highly refined deductive skills told me she was on the verge of leaving, as her plate was cleared and the bill had already been paid. Resigned to my fate, I was about to let the moment slip away—until my bartender friend, Ricky, rushed over with urgent news: this mystery woman, Katie, was from Cleveland too, and we had to talk! What started as a quick introduction turned into nearly two hours of effortless conversation—long enough for Katie to decide that Bay Area traffic had finally calmed enough for her to make the trek back to San Francisco from Novato without losing her sanity. Now, I’d love to say I was the bold one who asked for her number first—but that honor actually goes to Katie. She beat me to it, and we exchanged numbers before she headed out. Not long after, an older woman named Laura, who had apparently been observing our entire interaction, turned to me and said, “Mike, you better call that girl. She was really into you.” I, ever the smooth operator, casually dismissed the notion. “Oh, she was just being nice,” I shrugged. Laura, unimpressed, leveled me with a stare and declared, “Mike, if you don’t call that girl, you are a f**ing idiot.” And so, taking Laura’s sage wisdom to heart—I made the call. The rest, as they say, is history in the making!

Golf and Ann Taylor Loft

Our Story

Photos

Katie’s wonderful sister, Daisy, has graciously taken on the honor of serving as Katie’s Maid of Honor. To know Daisy is to know kindness in its purest form—but don’t let that fool you. Beneath her warm and generous spirit lies an unwavering loyalty to those she loves, and she will defend them with the ferocity of a seasoned warrior.

One particularly memorable display of this took place on our return flight from Muscat, Oman, to Istanbul, Turkey. While most of the passengers were either fast asleep or engrossed in their in-flight entertainment, a harem of no fewer than eight women had assembled behind us. Leaning heavily into our seats, they carried on an exuberant conversation in Arabic, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the rest of the plane was attempting to enjoy some peace.

After what felt like an eternity of this, Daisy—who, conveniently, is fluent in Arabic—rose from her seat, turned to them, and delivered what I can only assume was an expertly worded reprimand. Whatever she said, it was astonishingly effective. The entire group fell silent and scattered back to their seats, as if they had just been confronted by an avenging angel.

To this day, I have no idea what Daisy told them—but I do know that I was immensely relieved not to be on the receiving end of it!

Daisy Shetterly

Sam and I (Mike) have been best friends since the seventh grade, though "best friends" might be an understatement—it's more like we accidentally signed a lifelong contract of brotherhood sealed by a rotting tennis ball.

Our friendship began in the most logical way possible for two 14-year-old boys: I was in my yard on a warm summer day, attempting to "dig" a hole with a softball bat (as one does). Sam wandered over, curious, and asked what I was doing. I answered with all the wisdom of a middle schooler: "Digging a hole." Sam, being the visionary that he is, nodded in solemn understanding and said, "I'll be right back." Moments later, he returned with a tennis ball, which we promptly buried as if we were performing some sacred ritual. A week or two later, we exhumed our treasure, only to discover that time (and possibly some dark magic) had turned it into the most putrid-smelling object known to mankind. And naturally, that was the moment we became lifelong friends.

From that point on, we spent our youth causing minor mayhem across town. We assembled a "crew" consisting of my brother Sebastian and a rotating cast of neighborhood kids, embarking on legendary bike rides that took us through Mentor, Painesville, Eastlake, and even Willoughby—because nothing says adventure like pedaling across Ohio with no real plan.

High school brought new adventures, including lacrosse, where Sam made his rebellious mark. Our team colors were scarlet and gray. Sam’s helmet? Black and gray. Was it an act of defiance? Almost certainly. Did it drive our coach insane? Absolutely. But that’s just who Sam is—a lone wolf, a rule-bender, and a founding member of Mentor High School’s very first varsity lacrosse team.

Once we were of driving age (give or take a year), we discovered the thrill of joyriding. Naturally, we aspired to be street racers, despite having absolutely no qualifications for such an endeavor. My first “race” took place in my sister Sarah’s 1995 Ford Taurus, a vehicle not exactly known for its Need for Speed potential. But hey, the dream was alive.

Of all the things Sam has taught me over the years, one stands out as both incredibly valuable and slightly dangerous: how to whistle. And I don’t mean a casual, lighthearted whistle—I mean an ear-shattering, eardrum-demolishing super whistle that could probably summon a search-and-rescue team from three towns over. You have been warned.

Beyond all the antics, Sam has been more than just a friend—he’s family. He has been my unwavering confidant, my partner in crime (figuratively, of course), and one of the most fiercely loyal people I have ever known. Life has taken us in different directions, but nothing has ever broken the bond we share.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Sam is the best man—not just at my wedding, but in every sense of the word.

Wedding Party

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Dinner Menu Selection

Q + A

Mourelatos Lakeshore Resort

Please call and let the front desk know that you are with the Shetterly / Piunno wedding. You will not be able to book using our block online.

Michael & Katherine

Michael & Katherine

Lodging

Mourelatos Lakeshore Resort

Cedar Glen Lodge

Evo Hotel Tahoe City