Their wedding happened in spring, when the world was beginning again.The air was still crisp enough to make everyone's cheeks pink, yet the sunlight felt new—gentle, golden, the kind that makes flowers lift their heads after a long sleep.
The ceremony was small and private: close family, a few friends, and a sky of pale blue. Nothing grand, nothing excessive—just what fit the two of them.
Allie looked immaculate. Her gown was an A-line of soft satin with a scoop neckline and capped sleeves that framed her shoulders. The fitted bodice drew to her waist before spilling into a tiered skirt that moved like light itself. She didn't need jewels; her glow was enough. When she smiled, the whole garden seemed to sigh.
Curtis looked devastatingly handsome, clean-cut in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie slightly crooked from nervous fingers. His eyes gave him away—bright with awe, unsteady with emotion. When he first saw her, his breath hitched, and he nearly forgot how to stand.
As she walked down the aisle, she tried not to cry, but seeing him—his trembling smile, the way his eyes softened only for her—broke the dam.Every step toward him felt like walking through years of longing that had finally come full circle.
When they took each other's hands, all the noise in the world disappeared.No fear. No doubt. Only the stillness that comes when something finally fits.
Their vows were simple and true.They didn't promise perfection; they promised effort. They didn't promise forever in easy words; they promised to fight for it, to choose each other every single day.
By the time they kissed, everyone was crying—Curtis's mom dabbing her eyes, Jonah cheering, Clarisse pretending she wasn't weeping behind her sunglasses. Even the officiant's voice wavered with emotion.
As evening fell, fairy lights strung through the trees flickered on, laughter rising with the music. Guests danced barefoot on the grass, champagne glasses catching the glow of sunset.
In the middle of the celebration, Curtis leaned toward Allie and whispered, "Let's get out of here."
They slipped away unnoticed, shoes in hand, running down the path like teenagers sneaking off after curfew. Curtis opened the car door for her, and she grinned, the hem of her dress brushing against his legs.
"Where are we going?" she asked as the city lights came into view.
He smiled, eyes on the road. "You'll see."
She didn't need to ask again. The hum of the engine, the faint scent of roses still clinging to her hair, his hand resting over hers—it was enough. He finally parked along the old main street, where cobblestones met the edge of a quiet park. The trees whispered in the wind, lanterns from nearby cafés casting golden halos on the pavement.
Curtis got out first, then opened her door, offering his hand. The air smelled faintly of old paper and rain.
She followed him, curiosity lighting her face. When he stopped in front of a vintage bookstore with tall windows and peeling paint, she blinked.
"Curtis… what is this?"
He fished a key from his pocket and turned the lock. The door creaked open, letting out a faint, dusty scent of ink and wood polish.
Allie covered her mouth as she stepped inside. Rows of empty bookshelves lined the walls; light spilled through the window, painting the floor amber.
"You didn't—"
"I did," he said, smiling softly.
She spun slowly, eyes wide, her fingertips grazing the counter, the shelves, the old brass lamp on the corner table. It felt like stepping into a dream that had been waiting for her.
"When you were in Japan," Curtis began quietly, "I used to walk past this place every day with Milo. Something about it caught my eye—the morning sun, the smell of paper, the quiet. I'd stop and imagine you here."
He took a slow breath. "You always talked about opening your own café one day—a cozy space where people could slow down, read, feel at peace. When I found this place, I knew it was yours before it was mine."
He paused, looking at her tear-filled eyes. "So I bought it. I've been fixing it up bit by bit. All it needs now is a name."
Allie let out a sob and threw her arms around him. "You didn't have to do this," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You already gave me everything."
Curtis cupped her face, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "Allie, you gave me something I didn't know I was missing. You made me see how much life there is outside of plans and numbers. The simplest moments became the most beautiful because of you."
He kissed her forehead. "This isn't just for you—it's for us. For our future, for the children we'll raise, for every morning we'll wake up grateful. I promise to stand beside you until we're gray and wrinkled, even when you tell me to go away. I'll always find my way back to you."
Her tears spilled faster. She rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm. "Thank you, baby," she whispered. "Thank you for teaching me to trust again. Thank you for letting me rely on you. I love you so, so much."
He smiled, tilting her chin up. "Then dance with me."
And they did.
In the middle of that quiet, empty space, under the soft glow of the old lamp, they swayed—barefoot, her veil brushing the floor, his hand tracing slow circles on her back. Outside, the world moved on. Inside, it was just them.
They danced until the lights dimmed, until laughter replaced words, until silence felt like forever.
•••
Café Inertia.
Morning sunlight streams through the wide windows. A man enters, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm, two small children trailing behind him—one carrying crayons, the other clutching a storybook. They order pastries and hot chocolate, then sit at the corner table by the window.
Moments later, the barista appears with their order. The kids' faces light up; they scramble down from their seats, throwing their arms around her.
"Mom!" they squeal, giggling as Allie kneels to hug them tight.
Curtis stands, slides an arm around her waist, and kisses her cheek. She laughs, brushing flour from her apron.
The café hums with life—soft music, the hiss of steaming milk, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread.
Through the window, cherry blossoms flutter past like confetti.
Curtis picks up his crossword and looks at her. She catches his eye, the same quiet spark still there after all these years. He smiles. She smiles back.
Outside, the city keeps moving.Inside, time slows—just long enough for them to breathe, to exist, to love.
Life remains simple and good for the Harpers. And like the season itself, they continue to bloom.