Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Portland home, but inside, the room was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Mark scraped a pile of diced shallots into a sizzling cast-iron skillet, the satisfying hiss filling the quiet space.

"I still can't believe we canceled the reservation at Le Pigeon," Sarah said, leaning against the granite island as she expertly worked a corkscrew into a bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. With a soft pop, she poured two glasses, sliding one across the counter toward him.

Mark wiped his hands on his apron and took a grateful sip. "Best decision we’ve made all week. Ten years of marriage means we officially don't have to shout over crowded restaurant tables if we don't want to."

"Fair point," Sarah smiled, stepping up beside him to stir the simmering risotto. She nudged him gently with her hip. "Though you’re doing most of the heavy lifting for this ‘quiet night in.’ Do you want me to sear the scallops?"

"I've got the scallops. You're in charge of the playlist and the fireplace," Mark replied, trading her his empty wine glass for the wooden spoon. "And keeping me company."

Sarah tasted the broth, nodding in approval before grabbing her drink. She walked into the adjoining living room, knelt by the hearth, and struck a long match. The dry birch caught quickly, casting a soft, flickering glow over the rug. She pulled up a jazz playlist on her phone, letting the smooth piano chords blend with the sounds of Mark searing the seafood.

Returning to the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Happy tenth anniversary, Mark."

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Happy anniversary, Sarah. Here’s to doing exactly what we want."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse, blurring the streetlights into warm, amber streaks. Sarah leaned against the granite counter, watching Marcus expertly sear a pair of ribeye steaks.

"Ten years," she mused, swirling the Cabernet in her glass. "If you told me a decade ago that we'd be celebrating our biggest milestone by wearing sweatpants and hiding from the weather, I probably wouldn't have believed you."

Marcus chuckled, the sound deep and familiar, as he tossed a sprig of rosemary into the sizzling cast-iron skillet. "Hey, I offered to brave the storm. We could still be sitting in traffic on our way to downtown, paying forty dollars for escargot."

"Cancel that thought," Sarah said, walking over to press a kiss to his shoulder. She reached past him to lower the heat on the stovetop so the butter wouldn't burn. "I wouldn't trade this for a Michelin-starred meal anyway. Besides, I bought the good truffle butter, and the movie is already queued up."

She turned her attention back to the dining table, which she had already set with their wedding china—a rare appearance for the pristine white plates usually gathering dust in the top cabinet. She lit the two tapered candles in the center, their flickering glow instantly softening the room and reflecting off the silver flatware.

Marcus transferred the steaks to a wooden board to rest, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He walked over to the table and stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his cheek against hers. "Happy anniversary, Sarah."

"Happy anniversary," she murmured, leaning back into his embrace. They stood together in the quiet warmth of their home, perfectly content to let the storm rage outside while they celebrated a decade of building a life inside.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse, effectively making the decision for them. David leaned against the granite island, scrolling through a restaurant reservation app on his phone. "We can still make the eight o'clock at Le Petit," he offered, though his tone lacked enthusiasm.

Sarah looked up from the stack of mail she was sorting, catching his eye. "Honestly? The thought of putting on heels and catching an Uber in this weather makes my feet ache." She walked over, placing her hands on his shoulders, and gently pushed his phone down onto the counter. "Happy tenth anniversary, by the way."

David smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his. "Happy tenth. So, no overpriced French tasting menu?"

"Let's stay in," Sarah said, stepping back with a decisive nod. "But we do it right. I'll brave the rain and walk to the local butcher down the street before they close. I’m getting two dry-aged ribeyes, and I'll make the garlic truffle mash you love."

David’s posture immediately relaxed. "You've got a deal. While you do that, I will venture into the basement and unearth that bottle of Cabernet we bought in Napa on our honeymoon. The one we swore we’d save for a major milestone."

"Perfect," Sarah said, pulling her yellow raincoat from the hook by the back door. "You set the dining room table. Use our actual wedding china, not the everyday plates. And light those tall taper candles."

"What's the soundtrack?" David asked, already pulling the good corkscrew from the kitchen drawer.

"Jazz," she called back over her shoulder, opening the door to the rainy evening. "Coltrane."

David laughed. A decade of marriage, and their perfect celebration was exactly where they already were.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Portland Craftsman, but inside, the warm glow of the pendant lights made the dreary Tuesday evening fade away. Sarah leaned over the butcher block, rhythmically chopping bell peppers, while David scrolled through dining reservations on his tablet.

"Bistro Martine is booked solid," David said, adjusting his glasses. "We could try that new fusion place downtown for Saturday, but the reviews say it’s deafeningly loud on weekends."

Sarah paused, resting her knife on the cutting board. "Honestly? The thought of yelling across a table to celebrate ten years of marriage sounds exhausting."

David looked up, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "I was hoping you'd say that. Cancel the restaurant hunt?"

"Cancel it," Sarah agreed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Let’s stay here. Just us, sweatpants, and a fire in the living room."

"I love it. But we still need to make it special," David said, stepping over to the kitchen island to stand beside her. "How about we recreate our first-anniversary dinner? I can make that overly complicated mushroom risotto."

Sarah laughed, nudging his shoulder. "It wasn't terrible, it was just a little crunchy. But if you’re on risotto duty, I’ll handle the seared scallops. We can actually take our time and cook together."

"Deal. And I’ll finally open that bottle of Barolo we brought back from our honeymoon," David added, tapping a reminder into his phone. "I’ll swing by the good market on Friday afternoon for the seafood."

"Perfect." Sarah leaned up to kiss his cheek. "No crowds, no overpriced valets. Just good wine, crunchy rice, and you."

David wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Here’s to a decade. I wouldn’t want to stay in with anyone else."


Rain lashed against the living room windows of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and decidedly deliberate. Tonight was Mark and Elena’s tenth anniversary, a milestone that usually begged for reservations at a loud, expensive downtown steakhouse. Instead, they had agreed a month ago to celebrate exactly where they loved being most.

"Did you find the corkscrew?" Mark called over the sizzling sound of searing scallops. He nudged the heat down on the gas stove, wiping his hands on a striped apron.

Elena appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding up a silver opener in one hand and a dusty bottle of Cabernet in the other. "Bottom drawer, hiding behind the whisk," she said with a triumphant smile. "And I cued up the jazz playlist from our honeymoon."

She walked over, pausing to kiss the side of his neck before setting to work opening the wine. The cork popped with a satisfying sigh. Elena poured two glasses, sliding one across the granite island toward him.

"Cheers to ten years," she said, leaning against the counter. "And to not paying forty dollars for a soggy Uber in this downpour."

Mark chuckled, clinking his glass against hers. "I'll drink to that. Though, to be fair, these sea scallops weren't exactly cheap." He carefully transferred them to two warmed plates, arranging the roasted asparagus beside them just as they had learned in the cooking class they took last spring.

"It's perfect," Elena said softly, her gaze shifting from the steaming plates to his eyes. She picked up both dishes, balancing them expertly. "I'll take these to the dining room. You bring the wine. Let's make this a night to remember, right here in our sweatpants."

Mark smiled, grabbing the bottle. Ten years in, he couldn't imagine a better reservation.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse, blurring the glow of the amber streetlights outside. Mark stood at the butcher-block island, methodically dicing an onion, while Elena scrolled through her phone, her brow furrowed.

"You know," Elena said, setting the phone face-down on the granite counter. "The reservation at the French place is at eight. But looking at this weather, and thinking about the parking downtown... I really don't want to go."

Mark paused his chopping and looked up, visibly relieved. "I was hoping you'd say that. A packed, loud dining room doesn't exactly feel like us right now, anyway."

"Exactly. Ten years of marriage feels like it deserves something better than shouting over a jazz band," Elena agreed. She walked over, leaning against the counter next to him. "What if we just stay in? We can make it a real celebration, just the two of us."

"I'm completely on board," Mark said, scraping the onions into a glass prep bowl. "I could throw together that mushroom risotto you like."

Elena smiled and bumped her shoulder affectionately against his. "Tempting, but let’s make it even easier. Let’s order from Gino's. We can get the exact same deep-dish pizza we had on our first date."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "Pizza it is. But we’re upgrading the drinks." He wiped his hands on a dish towel and walked over to the dining room wine rack, pulling out the heavy bottle of Barolo they had brought back from their honeymoon.

"Perfect," Elena said, already dialing the pizzeria on her phone. "Pizza, the good wine, and sweatpants. Happy tenth anniversary, Mark."

"Happy anniversary, El," he replied, opening the kitchen drawer to find the corkscrew. As Elena ordered their dinner, Mark smiled, realizing there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds, catching the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He leaned against the counter, watching Elena sift through a stack of Saturday mail.

"So," Mark began, tapping his fingers against the granite. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena looked up, a soft smile breaking through her concentration. "A whole decade. I can barely believe it. We survived three cramped apartments, two fluctuating mortgage rates, and one very destructive golden retriever."

"Which is exactly why we need to celebrate properly," Mark said. "I was thinking we could finally do that trip to Napa. We can use those airline miles we've been hoarding for the past three years."

Elena paused, setting the mail down. She loved the idea of California, but her mind immediately went to the logistics. "Napa sounds amazing, Mark, but with soccer season starting for the kids and my quarterly reports due at the firm... I feel like flying across the country might just stress us out. What if we kept it closer to home?"

Mark took a sip of his coffee, nodding slowly. "Fair point. I don't want us checking work emails between wine tastings. What did you have in mind?"

"What about a long weekend at a cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains?" she suggested. "Just the two of us. We can hike, build a fire, and actually talk without interruption. Plus, we could drive down to that little Italian place in Asheville where we had our first anniversary dinner."

Mark’s eyes lit up, the grand gesture of a cross-country flight easily giving way to the comfortable nostalgia of North Carolina. "A cabin. No Wi-Fi, just us and an ungodly amount of pasta." He walked over, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I love it."

"Good," Elena said, leaning into his shoulder. "I'll book the cabin. You call the restaurant."


The Sunday rain drummed against the kitchen window, blurring the suburban Ohio street outside. Sarah sat at the island, nursing a mug of black coffee, while David loaded the dishwasher with the remains of their late breakfast.

"So," David said, shutting the appliance door and wiping his hands on a towel. "Two weeks until the big ten. Have we made a decision yet?"

Sarah sighed, scrolling idly on her phone. "I was looking at flights to Napa again. The prices are just ridiculous right now. And honestly? The thought of navigating airport security makes me want to take a nap."

David chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I'm with you. We saved up for a big trip, but spending half of it on airfare feels wrong. We could always do the fancy steakhouse downtown."

"We did that for year five," Sarah reminded him, looking up. "It was so loud we spent the whole dinner shouting over the jazz band."

"True." David rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "What if we took the time off anyway, but stayed local? Rent that little A-frame cabin near Hocking Hills? We could hike, build a fire, and actually talk to each other without our phones buzzing."

Sarah’s expression softened. "Just the two of us and a cooler full of good wine?"

"And those expensive dry-aged ribeyes from the local butcher," David added. "We cook together. No jazz bands, no TSA checkpoints."

Sarah set her phone face-down on the granite counter. The tension she hadn't realized she was holding in her shoulders finally melted away. "A quiet cabin actually sounds perfect. But I get to pick the road trip playlist."

"Deal," David said, stepping over to kiss the top of her head. "I'll book it right now. Happy almost ten years, Sarah."

"Happy almost ten, David."


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds of their Chicago townhouse, catching the steam rising from two chipped ceramic mugs. Sarah ran a highlighter over the wall calendar, pausing at the circled date two weeks away.

"Ten years," she said, leaning against the marble counter. "A whole decade, David. Do we need to do something huge? My mom keeps asking if we're throwing a party."

David looked up from his laptop, pushing his reading glasses down his nose. "A party sounds like a lot of stress. I spend enough time mingling at networking events. Do you actually want a party?"

Sarah sighed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Not even a little bit. But I feel like we should do more than our usual Friday night takeout and a movie."

"Agreed." David closed his laptop, giving her his full attention. "What about a trip? We could fly out to Napa for a long weekend. Drink too much wine, pretend we're twenty-eight again."

"Tempting," Sarah said, walking over and taking the seat across from him. "But with the bathroom renovation eating up our savings right now, last-minute flights and hotels feel a bit irresponsible."

David tapped his fingers on the oak table, thinking. "Okay, let's keep it local, but make it special. What if we finally book a room at The Drake downtown? We can get dressed up, have an obscenely expensive steak dinner, and actually sleep in past six a.m. because the dog will be at the kennel."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "A staycation. No home repairs, no dishes, no alarms. Just us."

"Exactly," David said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his. "I'll book the room today. You find a restaurant."

"Deal," she said, her thumb tracing his wedding band. "Happy early anniversary."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Mark stared at the wall calendar, his mug of black coffee growing cold.

"It’s three weeks away," he said, circling the date with a red pen. "Ten years. Hard to believe."

Elena leaned against the counter, wrapping both hands around her own mug. "A decade," she murmured, smiling thoughtfully. "We survived three state lines, two career changes, and that awful plumbing disaster of 2019. We need to do something special."

"I looked into flights to Hawaii," Mark admitted, turning to face her. "But between the roof repairs last month and the dog’s vet bills, it’s stretching us pretty thin."

Elena nodded, untroubled. "I don’t want to spend our anniversary stressing about credit card statements anyway. What if we kept it closer to home?"

"Closer like that overpriced steakhouse downtown?" Mark asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"No, not a fancy dinner," Elena said. She walked over and sat at the kitchen island across from him. "Do you remember our first anniversary? We drove up to that little cabin in the Adirondacks. We had terrible cell service, ate canned soup, and just played Scrabble by the fire for three days."

Mark’s face softened. "I remember you beating me by fifty points and gloating the entire drive home."

"Exactly," Elena laughed. "There's an A-frame on Airbnb about two hours north of here. It has a fire pit, a hot tub, and practically zero Wi-Fi."

Mark picked up his cold coffee and took a sip, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just us, some firewood, and a Scrabble board?"

"And maybe a really good bottle of wine," she added.

"Deal," Mark said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Send me the link. I’ll book it right now."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as David dried the last dinner plate. Across the granite island, Elena scrolled through her laptop, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"So," David said, tossing the dish towel over the oven handle. "Ten years next month. Have we figured out if we're doing the grand European tour, or are we being practical?"

Elena sighed, closing the travel blog she’d been reading. "I want to be romantic, but I also want it to feel relaxing. Paris sounds amazing, but with the new roof we just put on the house, I can’t stomach the flight prices right now. Plus, I don't want to spend our anniversary jet-lagged."

David walked around the island and leaned against the counter next to her. "I get it. We don't need a transatlantic flight to celebrate surviving a decade with me."

Elena nudged his hip with her elbow, smiling. "Hey, you survived me, too. What if we do something closer to home? Do you remember that cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains where we spent our first anniversary?"

"The one with the drafty windows and the hot tub that took three hours to heat up?" David chuckled, though a fond look entered his eyes.

"They renovated it last year," Elena pointed out, pulling up a new tab on her screen. "Look. New hot tub. Better insulation. But the exact same view of the valley."

David looked at the photos, remembering the crisp autumn air and the cheap champagne they had drank out of plastic cups ten years ago. "It’s perfect," he said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Let's book it. Three nights, just us, no cell service."

"Deal," Elena said, leaning into his touch. "But this time, we're bringing real champagne glasses."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as Sarah closed her laptop with a soft sigh.

"Ten years," she said, leaning back in her wooden dining chair. "I still can’t believe it’s next month."

Mark looked up from the stack of mail he was sorting at the island counter. He smiled, the overhead pendant light catching the slight graying at his temples. "A decade of putting up with me. You deserve a medal. Or at least a very good vacation."

"I was looking at flights to Hawaii," Sarah admitted, tracing the rim of her tea mug. "But with the roof needing repairs before winter, dropping five grand on a trip feels a little irresponsible right now."

Mark walked over, pulling up a chair beside her. "We don't have to fly across an ocean to make it special. What if we kept it local? We haven't been out to the coast—just the two of us—since before we bought this house."

Sarah’s expression brightened. "Cannon Beach?"

"Exactly," Mark said. "We can rent one of those little oceanfront cabins with a wood-burning fireplace, bundle up, and just watch the water. No home improvement projects, no checking work emails. Just us, a couple of good books, and a lot of seafood."

Sarah let out a quiet laugh, the tension leaving her shoulders. The grand, expensive gesture she thought she was supposed to want for a milestone anniversary suddenly paled in comparison to the cozy simplicity of his idea.

"You know," she said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers, "that sounds absolutely perfect. But I’m holding you to the 'no work emails' rule."

"Deal," Mark agreed, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "I'll book the cabin tonight."


The morning sun angled through the blinds of their suburban Chicago kitchen, illuminating the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He slid a plate of toast across the island to Elena.

"So," Mark said, leaning against the quartz counter. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena smiled, setting down her iPad. "I know. A whole decade of my terrible cooking and your snoring."

"Hey, my snoring is practically a lullaby," Mark countered with a grin. "But seriously, we need to figure out what we’re doing. We talked about Hawaii last year, but looking at our vacation days..."

"Yeah, Hawaii feels like too much logistical gymnastics right now," Elena agreed, taking a bite of her toast. "What if we just did a long weekend somewhere closer? Like renting a cabin in the Smokies?"

Mark considered this, tracing the ceramic rim of his mug. "A cabin sounds nice. Quiet. But it’s our tenth. Shouldn't we do something a little... bigger?"

"Bigger how? Fancy dinner? Throwing a party?" Elena wrinkled her nose. "You know we’d end up stressed out trying to host a party."

"Fair point. No party," Mark conceded. He walked over and sat on the stool next to hers. "What about going back to where we went for our honeymoon? Charleston. We could stay in that same historic district, eat our weight in shrimp and grits, and actually just relax together."

Elena’s eyes lit up. "Oh, I'd love that. We haven't been back since the wedding. We could revisit the beach, and maybe finally take that walking ghost tour we slept through last time."

"It’s a plan, then," Mark said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Ten years down, and we're finally going to meet a Charleston ghost."

"Perfect," Elena said softly. "I'll start looking at flights tonight."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as David poured two mugs of black coffee. He slid one across the granite island to Elena, who was mindlessly scrolling through her tablet.

"So," David said, leaning against the counter. "Next month. The big one-oh. Have you thought any more about what we're actually doing?"

Elena looked up, a soft smile breaking her morning concentration. "I was actually just looking at flights to Napa. But honestly, looking at these hotel prices? It feels like we'd be spending a chunk of our savings just to drink wine we could buy at Trader Joe's."

David chuckled, wrapping both hands around his warm mug. "I know what you mean. Mark and Lisa went to Hawaii for theirs, but they spent the whole time stressing about the itinerary. I don't want to be rushing around on our anniversary."

"Me neither," Elena agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. "What if we did something closer to home? We haven't been out to the coast since before we bought this house."

"Cannon Beach?" David’s eyebrows raised in genuine interest. "We could rent one of those little cedar cabins right on the water. No flights, no rental cars, no rigid schedules. Just us, the ocean, and maybe a few good bottles of that wine."

"And a ridiculous amount of seafood," Elena added, her eyes brightening. "We can take Friday and Monday off. Make it a long weekend. We could even bring the dog if we find a pet-friendly place."

David reached across the island, his fingers lightly covering hers. "A long, quiet weekend sounds exactly like what we need. I’ll start looking at cabins if you look up the best crab shacks."

"Deal," she said, tapping her screen to close the airline tab. Ten years together felt monumental, but suddenly, deciding how to celebrate it felt wonderfully simple.


The late morning sun filtered through the kitchen blinds as Mark poured a second cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter, tapping the wall calendar with his index finger.

"Three weeks," he said, handing Sarah her mug. "Ten years. A whole decade since we said 'I do' in your parents' backyard."

Sarah looked up from her laptop, a slow smile spreading across her face. "It feels like a lifetime, and also like it was yesterday. We need to do something to celebrate. A real celebration, not just grabbing pad thai like last year."

"Agreed," Mark said, taking a seat opposite her at the kitchen island. "I was actually looking at flights to Maui. We always said we'd go back to Hawaii for a big milestone."

Sarah sighed, tracing the rim of her coffee mug. "I’d love to, Mark, really. But with the roof repairs we just paid for and my big quarterly review at work in two weeks... a ten-hour flight and the time difference just sounds exhausting right now."

Mark nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Fair enough. So, what’s the alternative? A Michelin-star restaurant in the city? Fancy clothes, tiny portions?"

Sarah chuckled. "You'd be miserable in a tie all night. What about a long weekend at that cabin near Lake George? The one we went to when we first started dating. We can hike, build a fire, and actually talk without our phones buzzing."

Mark’s eyes lit up. "Steaks on the charcoal grill and a bottle of decent wine? I like the sound of that. It’s quiet. It’s us."

"Exactly," Sarah said, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. "No stress, no itineraries. Just you and me, celebrating ten years of figuring it out together."

"I'll book it today," Mark smiled. "Happy early anniversary."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, blurring the suburban Ohio street outside. Mark leaned against the granite counter, nursing a mug of black coffee, while Elena scrolled thoughtfully on her tablet at the kitchen island.

"So," Mark began, tapping his fingers against the ceramic. "Ten years next month. Have we figured out if we're doing the grand European tour, or are we pretending it’s just another Tuesday?"

Elena laughed, locking the tablet screen. "I think Paris is slightly out of the budget, considering we just had to replace the HVAC system. But I don't want to just order our usual pad thai, either. It’s a decade, Mark."

"I agree." He walked over, pulling out a stool beside her. "I looked at flights to Napa. It’s doable, but it means rushing to the airport Friday after work and flying back on a red-eye Sunday."

Elena sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "That sounds exhausting. Honestly? The idea of TSA lines right now makes my jaw tense."

"Okay, no airports," Mark said, his voice softening. "What if we rent a cabin up in the Hocking Hills? We haven't been there since we were dating. We can get one with a fireplace, hike if the weather holds, and bring a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine."

Elena lifted her head, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Just us, no Wi-Fi, and that fancy Cabernet we’ve been saving?"

"Exactly. I can take Friday off so we can drive up early, beat the Columbus traffic."

"I love it," she said, squeezing his hand. "It's perfect. Not too flashy, but it feels like us."

"I'll book it tonight," Mark promised. He kissed the top of her head, their upcoming milestone quietly anchored in exactly what mattered.


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen as Elias poured a second cup of coffee. Across the granite island, Maya scrolled through a tablet, her brow furrowed in mild concentration.

"So, a decade," Elias said, leaning against the counter. "Ten years next month. We should probably figure out what we’re actually doing."

Maya looked up, offering a soft smile. "I was just looking at flights to Napa. But honestly? The thought of dealing with the airport right now just makes me tired."

Elias chuckled, sliding the warm mug across the counter to her. "I know the feeling. Your parents are finally giving us a long weekend without the kids, and we want to spend half of it in a TSA line?"

"Exactly." Maya took a slow sip. "What if we stayed relatively local? Not just our usual dinner at Antonio's, though. Something memorable."

Elias tapped his fingers against his coffee mug, thinking. "We could book that A-frame cabin up in the Hocking Hills. The one with the wraparound porch and the fire pit. We haven't been out there since before Leo was born."

Maya’s eyes brightened. "Oh, the place with the awful cell reception? That actually sounds perfect."

"Just us, a couple of good ribeyes, and absolutely no Wi-Fi," Elias agreed. "We can finally open that bottle of Bordeaux we brought back from our honeymoon."

"We always said we’d wait for a special occasion," Maya noted, setting the tablet down completely. "Surviving ten years and two toddlers definitely qualifies."

Elias reached across the island, his hand briefly covering hers. "It’s a plan, then. I’ll look up the cabin's availability today, and you figure out the playlist for the drive. No kids' music allowed."

"Deal," Maya said, the tension in her shoulders melting away. "Happy early anniversary."


The aroma of dark roast coffee filled the sunlit kitchen of Sarah and David’s colonial home in upstate New York. It was Saturday morning, and circled in red ink on the wall calendar—just three weeks away—was a major milestone: their tenth wedding anniversary.

David leaned against the marble island, cradling his favorite chipped mug. "So, a decade," he said, blowing on his coffee. "Do we want to do the whole Caribbean resort thing? I checked my account, and I actually have enough miles to cover the flights."

Sarah looked up from her laptop, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "I thought about that, honestly. But between my team's software launch and the kids' endless soccer tournaments... packing for a big international trip sounds more stressful than relaxing right now."

"Fair point," David agreed, pulling out a barstool and sitting across from her. "What's the alternative, though? A fancy dinner downtown? We did that for year eight and nine. It feels like we should do something a little more memorable for ten."

"What about a long weekend up in the Adirondacks?" Sarah suggested, a soft smile forming. "We haven't been back to Lake George since you proposed. We could rent a small cabin, just the two of us. My mom already offered to take the kids from Thursday to Sunday."

David’s eyes lit up. "Near the old lodge? The one with the terrible plumbing but the amazing lake views?"

"Exactly," Sarah laughed. "Though maybe we upgrade to a place with a working shower this time. We can hike during the day, get dinner at that little Italian place on the water, and just actually talk to each other without someone interrupting to ask where their left shin guard is."

"A cabin with hot water, good pasta, and no missing shin guards," David mused, reaching across the island to tap his mug against hers. "Happy early anniversary. Let's book it."


Sarah leaned over the granite kitchen island, tracing a circle on the paper calendar they still kept taped to the fridge. "Mark, the fifteenth is exactly one month away."

Mark looked up from his laptop, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. Morning sunlight spilled across the hardwood floor, highlighting the comfortable, lived-in clutter of their shared life. "Ten years. A whole decade since we stood at that altar in the sweltering heat." He smiled, rubbing his jaw. "We should do something big. What about that trip to Sedona we’ve been talking about?"

"Sedona sounds amazing," Sarah said, pulling out a stool and sitting across from him. "But realistically? With the unexpected roof repairs last month, I’m not sure we can swing flights and a resort right now. Plus, getting the time off work on short notice will be tough for both of us."

Mark closed his laptop, abandoning his emails to give her his full attention. "You're right. The roof took a bite out of the savings. But I still want it to be special. No standard dinner-and-a-movie."

"What if we go back to the Shenandoah Valley?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening. "We haven't hiked there since the weekend you proposed. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins for the weekend. Just the two of us, a good bottle of wine, and no cell service."

Mark’s expression softened


The morning sun angled through the blinds of their Ohio kitchen, highlighting the steam rising from Mark’s coffee. He lowered his tablet, watching his wife absentmindedly trace the ceramic rim of her mug.

"So," Mark said, breaking the quiet hum of the refrigerator. "Two weeks until the big ten. Have you thought any more about what we're doing?"

Sarah sighed, leaning back in her chair and pulling her cardigan tighter. "I have. And honestly? Every time I look at flights to Hawaii or Paris, I just get stressed about PTO, airport layovers, and boarding the dog."

Mark chuckled, taking a slow sip of his dark roast. "I thought I was the only one. My mom keeps asking if we’re renewing our vows on a beach somewhere. I didn't have the heart to tell her that sounds completely exhausting right now."

"Exactly," Sarah smiled, the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want it to be a production. What if we just... stay here?"

"A staycation?" Mark raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued.

"Yeah. But a real one," she said, leaning forward. "We ban checking work emails. We order expensive takeout from that ridiculous steakhouse downtown we never go to. And maybe we finally open that bottle of Cab we brought back from Napa five years ago."

"And finally finish the puzzle on the patio?" Mark asked, a familiar grin spreading across his face.

"Don't push it," Sarah laughed. "But seriously. Just us, the house to ourselves, and absolutely no alarm clocks."

Mark reached across the kitchen island, covering her hand with his. "Steak, the good wine, and sleeping in. I think that sounds like a perfect ten years to me. I'll call and set up the takeout."


Morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen blinds, illuminating the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. Across the quartz island, Mark tapped the calendar app on his tablet, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

"Can you believe it's been exactly ten years next month?" Mark asked, looking up. "A whole decade since that sweltering July afternoon in Boston."

Sarah smiled, leaning against the counter. "I try not to think about how much I sweated through my wedding dress. So, how are we doing this? Aluminum is the traditional gift, but I’d prefer we don't just exchange soda cans."

"I was thinking a trip," Mark said, his eyes brightening. "Maybe Napa? We haven't been to California since before we bought this house."

Sarah took a slow sip of her coffee, considering the idea. "Napa sounds amazing, Mark. But with my Q3 quarterly reports due that same week and the contractor finally starting the bathroom repairs... it feels a little stressful to fly clear across the country right now."

Mark let out a small sigh, though his shoulders quickly relaxed. "You're right. I just wanted it to be grand. Ten years is a big deal."

"It is," Sarah agreed, walking around the island to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "But grand doesn't have to mean complicated. What if we drive up the coast to Maine? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins near Acadia, turn off our laptops, and just be together. We can buy an expensive bottle of wine to make up for skipping Napa."

Mark leaned into her touch, a genuine smile replacing his thoughtful frown. "Hiking, fresh seafood, and no cell service? Actually, that sounds perfect."

"And," Sarah added, her eyes twinkling, "we can drink the wine out of aluminum camping mugs. Tradition maintained."


Sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds of their Ohio kitchen, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Mark leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand, watching his wife scroll through her tablet at the kitchen island.

"Two weeks out," Mark said, lightly tapping his gold wedding band against the ceramic mug. "Ten years. Have we made a decision yet, or are we just going to panic the night before?"

Sarah looked up, rubbing her tired eyes. "I was just looking at flights to Napa. But honestly? Between finding a dog sitter, boarding the cats, and taking the extra days off work... it just feels like so much forced effort."

Mark nodded, feeling a distinct wave of relief. "I totally agree. The idea of navigating an airport right now just makes me tired. What if we stayed closer to home? We could finally do that extravagant tasting menu at The Birch Room downtown."

Sarah tilted her head, considering the idea as she took a sip of her dark roast. "That sounds amazing. But maybe a little stiff for us? What if we rented a secluded weekend cabin up in the Hocking Hills instead? Just the two of us, a pile of really expensive groceries, and absolutely no Wi-Fi."

A slow smile spread across Mark’s face. He set his coffee down. "Ribeyes on the charcoal grill, that bottle of cabernet we've been saving since our fifth anniversary, and actual, uninterrupted quiet."

Sarah closed her tablet with a decisive click. "Exactly. No strict itineraries. No rushing to make reservations. Just us remembering why we actually still like living together."

She walked over, comfortably slipping her arms around his waist.

"I'll book the cabin," Mark murmured, kissing the top of her head. "You plan the grocery list."


Morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen island as David set a steaming mug of dark roast coffee in front of Elena. She looked up from her laptop, offering a tired but appreciative smile.

"So," David said, leaning against the granite counter. "Next month. Ten years. Have we made a decision yet?"

Elena sighed, closing her laptop screen halfway. "I was just looking at flights to Maui. It’s tempting, David, but honestly? Between the kitchen renovations and our work schedules, planning a massive tropical trip sounds exhausting right now."

David chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "I thought the exact same thing yesterday, but I didn't want to be the boring one to say it. I want to celebrate us, not spend our milestone anniversary stressed about connecting flights and rental cars."

"Exactly," Elena said, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "What if we just keep it simple? Remember that bed and breakfast up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? The one with the wrap-around porch?"

David’s eyes lit up. "Outside Asheville. We went there for our third anniversary. Barely any cell service, just the fire pit and the hiking trails."

"Yes. I checked, and they actually have the detached carriage house available for our weekend," she said, opening her laptop fully to show him the listing. "We could drive up Friday after work, stop at that little diner off Interstate 40, and just... unplug for three days."

David walked around the island and kissed the top of her head. "A quiet weekend in the mountains with my wife sounds infinitely better than a chaotic airport. Let's book it."

Elena smiled, clicking the reservation button. It wasn't the extravagant Hawaiian vacation they had vaguely dreamt about in their twenties, but as they sat together in the quiet home they’d built, it felt like exactly what they needed.


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Portland kitchen, casting warm stripes across the oak dining table. Sarah traced the rim of her coffee mug, her eyes fixed on the wall calendar. The twentieth of October was circled in thick red marker. Ten years.

"So," she said, looking up as David pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Two weeks until the big day. Have we figured out what we're actually doing?"

David shut the fridge door with his hip. "I was looking at flights to Hawaii last night. We always said we'd go back for a milestone."

Sarah smiled, though a faint crease appeared between her brows. "Hawaii sounds amazing, Dave. But with the bathroom remodel starting next month and Lily's braces... is a massive trip really a good idea right now?"

He paused, cracking an egg into the skillet. The sizzle filled the brief silence. "You're right. I just wanted to do something special. I want to celebrate us, not just do our usual routine of ordering Thai food and falling asleep on the couch."

"We can still do something special without crossing the Pacific," Sarah said, walking over to lean against the counter beside him. "What if we took a long weekend and drove up to the coast? We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins in Cannon Beach, just the two of us. We can leave Lily with your mom."

David turned the eggs, a genuine grin spreading across his face. "A fire in the woodstove, walking the beach in the freezing wind... getting clam chowder at that dive bar?"

"Exactly," Sarah laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. "It’s where we got engaged. It feels right."

"Cannon Beach it is," David said, reaching for two plates. "I'll book the cabin today."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as Sarah poured a second cup of coffee. She slid into the seat opposite her husband, Mark, who was scrolling through the Sunday news on his tablet.

"So," Sarah began, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic mug. "Next month. Ten years."

Mark set the tablet face-down, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "A whole decade. I feel like we're supposed to do something grand. Paris? Hawaii? Renew our vows in front of a hundred people?"

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "Please, no. The thought of organizing a vow renewal sounds like a second wedding, and I barely survived planning the first one."

"Fair enough," Mark agreed, leaning back in his chair. "No big parties. But we can't just order Thai takeout and watch a movie like we did for year nine. It’s the big one-zero. We need to actually celebrate."

"What if we compromised?" Sarah suggested. "Something more than a dinner out, but less exhausting than a transatlantic flight."

Mark drummed his fingers on the oak table, looking out at the damp Oregon morning. "Remember that road trip we took to Cannon Beach right after we first moved in together? We stayed in that awful motel with the lumpy mattress."

"I loved that trip," Sarah said softly, her eyes lighting up at the memory. "We ate clam chowder on the beach in the freezing cold."

"What if we did that?" Mark asked. "Not the awful motel, obviously. Let's rent one of those nice oceanfront cabins with a fireplace. Just the two of us for a long weekend. We can walk the dogs on the beach, turn off our phones, and actually talk."

Sarah reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. "A nice bed, coastal weather, and clam chowder. It’s the perfect ten-year plan."


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds, highlighting the steam rising from Sarah’s coffee mug. She scrolled through her phone calendar, pausing on a date marked with a digital red heart.

"Mark," she said, looking up as her husband flipped a pair of eggs at the stove. "We’re exactly one month out. Ten years."

Mark slid the eggs onto two plates and brought them to the island, taking a seat beside her. "A whole decade. We should probably do something bigger than our usual pad thai takeout." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "How about that trip to Maui we’ve been talking about since year five?"

Sarah sighed, though a warm smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I’d love to, really. But between the new roof we just had to pay for and coordinating a week of childcare with my mom? Planning a massive trip just sounds exhausting right now."

Mark thoughtfully chewed his breakfast, nodding. "You’re right. The logistics alone would kill the romance. What if we keep it local, but elevate it? We could book a long weekend up in Asheville. Rent a cabin, turn off our phones, and just actually sleep."

Sarah leaned her head against his arm, considering it. A quiet weekend in the Blue Ridge Mountains sounded infinitely better than navigating airport security lines. "No cooking, no laundry, just us?" she asked.

"Just us," Mark confirmed, reaching over to take a sip of his coffee. "I'll look for places with a hot tub and a good view. Maybe we can finally open that fancy bottle of wine we brought back from Napa."

"It’s a perfect plan," Sarah said, feeling the familiar, grounding comfort of their partnership. "Happy early anniversary."


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of their suburban Ohio home as Elena and David sat on the couch, a worn laptop resting on the cushions between them. Next month marked ten years of marriage, a milestone that suddenly felt much heavier than the passing years had suggested.

"So, a cruise to Alaska?" David asked, scrolling idly through a glossy travel site. "We talked about it when we first got married."

Elena leaned her head against his shoulder, sipping her peppermint tea. "We did. But honestly? The thought of navigating airports right now, plus finding a sitter for the dogs for two weeks... it sounds more exhausting than romantic."

David sighed, though his shoulders visibly relaxed in agreement. "Fair point. But we can't just do dinner at the local Italian place again. It’s a decade, El. Ten years of me leaving my socks right next to the hamper and you pretending you don't mind."

She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Oh, I definitely mind. But what if we compromised? We don't need a massive vacation, but we do need something special. What about renting a cabin up in the Hocking Hills for a long weekend?"

David paused, closing the browser tab. "Just the two of us? A fireplace, some hiking, and terrible Wi-Fi?"

"Exactly," Elena said. "We can take the dogs. We can cook our own meals, finally open that fancy bottle of wine we bought in Napa five years ago, and just... be together. We haven't had a quiet weekend in months."

A slow smile spread across David’s face as he opened a new search tab. "A quiet cabin it is. But I insist on making my famous pancakes on Saturday morning."

"Deal," Elena smiled, perfectly content.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home as Sarah poured a second cup of coffee. She slid the steaming mug across the granite island to David, who was scrolling absently through the morning news on his tablet.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the counter. "Two weeks until the big one. A whole decade."

David looked up, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Ten years. We should probably do something more exciting than our usual Thai takeout on the couch."

"I looked into flights to Hawaii," Sarah admitted, tracing the rim of her mug. "But honestly? The thought of navigating airport security and packing right now just makes me tired. Work has been so chaotic lately."

"I'm with you," David agreed, setting his tablet aside. "We don't need a massive trip to prove we love each other. What if we did a long weekend somewhere closer? Drive out to the coast?"

Sarah’s face brightened. "Cannon Beach? We haven't been there since our honeymoon."

"Exactly. We can rent one of those little cedar cabins overlooking the water. Build a fire, drink some good Oregon Pinot, and actually unplug for three days." He reached across the island, taking her hand. "No laptops, no work emails."

"And maybe one night we get dressed up and go to that fancy seafood place down the highway," Sarah added, intertwining her fingers with his.

"It’s a plan," David said. "I’ll look for cabin rentals this afternoon. And hey, if it rains the whole time like it's doing today..."

"Then we'll just have to stay inside by the fire," she smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. "Honestly, that sounds like a perfect ten-year anniversary to me."


Morning sunlight washed over the granite kitchen island as Mark tapped his pen against the open calendar. Across from him, Elena poured two mugs of dark roast coffee, sliding one toward her husband.

"So," Elena said, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "Ten years next month. Are we actually going to plan something this time, or just order Thai takeout and watch a movie like year nine?"

Mark chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Hey, year nine was a classic. But no, ten is a big milestone. I was actually looking at flights to Maui." He turned his tablet to show her a photo of a pristine beach.

Elena sighed, a soft, appreciative smile playing on her lips. "It’s beautiful, Mark. But with the roof repair we just paid for, and neither of us having a full week of PTO saved up right now... is it realistic?"

Mark’s shoulders dropped a fraction before he nodded, turning off the tablet screen. "Yeah, you're right. I just wanted to do something special. You deserve a big gesture."

"I don't need a big gesture," Elena said, reaching across the island to squeeze his hand. "I just want uninterrupted time with you. No laptops, no house projects."

She paused, looking out the kitchen window at the autumn leaves gathering in their quiet Ohio neighborhood. "What about a long weekend at Hocking Hills? We could rent one of those secluded cabins with a hot tub. It’s only a two-hour drive, so we wouldn't lose a whole day to airport layovers."

Mark’s face brightened. "Just like the trip we took right after we got engaged. We could hike Old Man's Cave during the day and build a fire at night."

"Exactly," Elena said.

Mark firmly circled the second weekend of October on the calendar. "A cabin in the woods it is. I'll book it today."


Rain drummed gently against the living room window of their Chicago townhouse. Sarah curled her feet under her on the sofa, nursing a mug of black coffee, while David scrolled through his tablet on the adjacent armchair.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" David asked, looking up.

Sarah smiled, the steam from her coffee warming her face. "A whole decade. We survived our twenties, three apartments, and that hideous orange couch from your bachelor days."

"Hey, that couch had character," David chuckled, setting the tablet down on the coffee table. "So, what’s the plan? The big one-oh deserves a proper celebration. I was looking at flights to Hawaii. Or maybe a long weekend in Napa?"

Sarah considered it. A tropical trip sounded wonderful, but something about it felt too disconnected. "Those are great," she said slowly. "But to be honest, airports and strict itineraries sound a bit exhausting right now. What if we did something a little more personal?"

David leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Like a staycation? A fancy dinner downtown?"

"Maybe a nice dinner," Sarah nodded. "But I was thinking... what if we recreated our first road trip? Just drive up the lake to Door County and stay in that slightly drafty bed and breakfast? The one where we got a flat tire."

David’s eyes lit up with sudden nostalgic recognition. "And we ended up eating gas station cherry pie on the hood of my old Honda?"

"Exactly," Sarah laughed. "No flights. Just us, the highway, and a lot of terrible singing."

David reached over to tap his coffee mug against hers. "It's perfect. But this time," he added with a grin, "I'm buying the premium road trip snacks. Ten years has to count for something."


The rhythmic hum of the dishwasher filled the dimly lit kitchen as Mark wiped down the granite countertops. Across the island, Elena was scrolling through her phone, a half-empty glass of Merlot resting beside her hand.

"So," Mark began, tossing the damp dish towel over his shoulder. "Two months until the big one. Ten years. Have we made a decision yet?"

Elena looked up, adjusting her glasses. "I was actually just looking at flights to Hawaii. But honestly? The thought of a ten-hour flight, coordinating the time off, and packing for a week feels more exhausting than romantic right now."

Mark leaned against the counter, crossing his arms with a relieved smile. "I'm glad you said that. I was pricing out resorts in Maui on my lunch break and nearly choked on my sandwich. Plus, with the roof repairs coming up..."

"Exactly," Elena sighed, placing her phone face-down on the marble. "I want to do something meaningful, though. Not just our usual rushed dinner downtown."

"What about a long weekend at a cabin up near Asheville?" Mark suggested. "Just the two of us. We can hike that trail we loved, open a really good bottle of wine, and completely disconnect. No work emails, no contractor calls."

Elena’s face softened, the lingering stress of the workday melting from her posture. "Like we did for our first anniversary. Just us and the Blue Ridge mountains."

"Exactly," Mark said, walking around the island to press a kiss to the top of her head. "We can splurge on a fancy dinner in town one night, but spend the rest of the time actually paying attention to each other."

"I love it," Elena said, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "Book it. But I get to pick the wine."

"Deal," Mark laughed.


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds, warming the hardwood floor as Mark set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Elena.

"So," Mark said, leaning against the island counter. "Next month. Ten years."

Elena smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "I know. A whole decade. I was looking at flights to Maui last night, but honestly? Just looking at the prices gave me a headache."

"We could swing it if we really wanted to," Mark offered, though his tone lacked conviction. Between the recent roof repair and their busy work schedules, a massive tropical getaway felt more stressful than relaxing.

"I don't want to spend our milestone anniversary worrying about a credit card bill," Elena said, echoing his unspoken thought. She took a slow sip of her coffee. "What if we did something closer to home? Just the two of us, no distractions."

Mark’s face brightened. "What about that bed and breakfast in Asheville? The one we stayed at for our first anniversary. We could hike the Blue Ridge Parkway, get dinner at that tapas place downtown if it’s still open..."

Elena’s shoulders dropped, the tension of planning instantly evaporating. "The place with the wrap-around porch and the incredible blueberry pancakes?"

"That’s the one," Mark smiled, pulling out his phone to check availability. "It’s only a four-hour drive. We take Friday off, make a long weekend out of it. No airports, no crazy itineraries."

"I love it," Elena said, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. "Ten years is a big deal, but I don't need a fancy beach resort to celebrate it. I just need you. And maybe a massive plate of those pancakes."

"Deal," Mark laughed, tapping his screen. "Booking it right now."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Ohio split-level as Sarah circled a date on the wall calendar with a red marker.

"Can you believe it’s next month?" she asked, leaning back against the tile counter.

Mark closed the dishwasher with a soft click and wiped his hands on a damp towel. "Ten years," he said, shaking his head. "Feels like we were just arguing over wedding floral arrangements yesterday. We need to do something special."

"I was thinking about that today," Sarah said. "My mom suggested a big backyard barbecue. Invite everyone from the wedding who's still in the area."

Mark pulled out a stool and sat, resting his elbows on the kitchen island. He looked tired from the workday, but he smiled. "A barbecue sounds nice, but honestly? Playing host to fifty people doesn't sound like much of a celebration for us. I feel like we'd spend the whole day making sure everyone else’s drinks are full."

Sarah let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you said that. I was already stressing over the grocery list in my head."

"What do you actually want to do?" Mark asked, meeting her eyes.

"I want to actually see you," she said softly. "Between work and the house, we're always running in opposite directions. What if we just rented a cabin up in the Hocking Hills? Just the two of us for a three-day weekend. No Wi-Fi, no hosting duties. We can pick up a good bottle of wine and just... breathe."

Mark’s smile widened, the fatigue seeming to lift from his shoulders. "A cabin. A fire pit. And absolutely zero small talk with your Uncle Gary."

"Exactly," Sarah laughed, walking over to wrap her arms around his neck.

"I'll look at rentals tonight," Mark promised, pulling her in. "Happy early anniversary."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Ohio home, catching the steam rising from two mismatched mugs on the coffee table. Sarah tucked her feet under the fleece blanket and looked over at David, who was scrolling through a digital calendar on his tablet.

"So, the tenth anniversary is exactly one month away," David said, looking up. "Have we figured out what we’re actually doing? The pressure is officially on."

Sarah smiled, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "I was thinking about that yesterday. My mom keeps hinting that we should go to Paris or Hawaii. You know, the big 'milestone' trips."

David chuckled, the sound rumbling comfortably in the quiet living room. "Hawaii sounds great, but so does finally finishing the basement. I love you, but I don't know if I have the energy for a twelve-hour flight right now."

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, leaning against his shoulder. "To be honest, the idea of packing and rushing through airports sounds exhausting. What if we kept it simple? Just us."

"Simple like that fancy steakhouse downtown?"

"I was actually thinking simpler," Sarah said. "Remember that small cabin we rented in the Hocking Hills for our first anniversary? The one with the terrible Wi-Fi and the antique woodstove?"

David’s eyes lit up in recognition. "Where we spent three days playing Scrabble and hiking in the rain? I loved that place."

"Me too. We haven't been back since. What if we just unplug for a long weekend? No flights, no rigid itineraries. Just some good wine, a pile of books, and each other."

David set his tablet on the coffee table and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "A cabin in the woods it is," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll start looking for rentals."


The crisp Saturday morning sunlight spilled across the granite kitchen island as David refilled his coffee mug, sliding a steaming cup toward Elena. Between them lay a glossy travel brochure and a scattered pile of mail. Next month marked their tenth wedding anniversary, a milestone that had been quietly looming over their usual suburban routine of commutes, mortgage payments, and weekend yard chores.

"I just don't think Maui is in the cards this year," Elena said, her finger gently tapping the brochure’s idyllic beach cover. "Between the unexpected roof repair last month and trying to coordinate time off work, flying across the Pacific just feels too stressful."

David leaned against the counter, letting out a soft, conceding sigh. "I know. I really wanted to do something huge for us. Ten years is a big deal, El. But you're right. I don't want us worrying about credit card bills while we're trying to relax and celebrate."

"Exactly." Elena took a sip of her dark roast, her expression softening as she looked up at him. "But we definitely can't just do our usual Friday night pizza takeout, either. We need a real break."

David tapped his chin, his gaze drifting out the kitchen window toward the familiar oak tree in their front yard. "What if we drove back up to Asheville?" he asked. "We haven't been since our first anniversary. We could rent a little cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains for a long weekend. Just the two of us, some hiking, and a nice dinner at that French place downtown."

Elena’s face lit up, the pragmatic tension in her shoulders melting away. "The one with the incredible duck confit? I'd love that. It’s only a four-hour drive, no airports required."

"It’s a plan, then," David smiled, reaching across the island to squeeze her hand. "A quiet cabin, some great food, and absolutely no talk about the roof."


Steam rose from the French press as Mark pushed the plunger down, pouring two steaming mugs of dark roast. He slid one across the kitchen island to Elena, who was absentmindedly scrolling through her laptop.

"Can you believe it's next Friday?" Mark asked, leaning against the cool granite counter. "Ten years."

Elena looked up, a warm smile softening her tired eyes. "I know. A whole decade. I was actually just looking at flights to Charleston. We always said we'd go back to where we had our honeymoon."

Mark took a slow sip of his coffee. "I'd love to, El. But with Tommy's soccer tournament that weekend, and the plumbing bill we just got for the upstairs bathroom... a weekend trip might be pushing it right now."

Elena sighed, pushing the laptop away. "You're right. The timing is terrible. But I don't want to just order takeout and fall asleep watching television, either. Ten years is a big deal."

"Agreed," Mark said softly. He walked around the island and pulled out the stool next to hers. "What if we recreate it here? The honeymoon, I mean."

Elena raised an eyebrow. "You're going to cook shrimp and grits?"

"I'm going to *attempt* shrimp and grits," Mark corrected with a grin. "We can track down a bottle of that Pinot Noir we drank on the patio of that little bistro. Put the kids to bed early, light some candles, and actually talk."

Elena’s smile returned, reaching her eyes this time. "No phones?"

"No phones," Mark promised, reaching out to cover her hand with his. "Just us, slightly overcooked seafood, and ten years of memories."

"Deal," she said, giving his fingers an affectionate squeeze. "But I'm buying a backup frozen pizza, just in case."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Ohio home, but inside, the soft glow of the floor lamp kept the autumn chill at bay. Sarah sat with her feet tucked under her on the sofa, scrolling idly through her tablet, while David sat in the armchair opposite, nursing a mug of decaf coffee.

"Can you believe it’s almost been ten years?" David asked, setting his mug on the cork coaster.

Sarah looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. "A decade next month. It feels like we should do something big to celebrate. A trip to Hawaii? Paris?"

David chuckled, running a hand through his slightly thinning hair. "Paris sounds amazing, but with the roof repairs we just paid for, my wallet is leaning more toward a nice steak downtown."

"Fair point," Sarah conceded, setting the tablet aside. "To be honest, dealing with airports right now sounds exhausting anyway. But I don't want to just do our usual Friday night dinner. Ten years is a big deal."

David leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What if we recreate our first date? Not the exact spots, since Luigi's closed down, but the spirit of it."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. "Bowling and terrible pizza?"

"Exactly. We can go to that retro alley over in the Heights, order the greasiest pepperoni pie they have, and then drive up to the overlook to watch the city lights."

"Just like when we were twenty-five and broke," Sarah laughed. "I love it. But this time, we can afford to spring for a good bottle of wine when we get back home."

"Deal," David said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Hawaii could wait; a decade of marriage deserved a celebration that felt exactly like them.


Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen blinds of their Chicago townhouse, catching the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He set the cup down in front of Elena, who was staring intently at her laptop screen.

"So, the fifteenth of next month," Mark said, leaning against the granite counter. "Ten years. It feels like we should do something bigger than our usual dinner and a movie."

Elena closed her laptop and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "I was just thinking the exact same thing. I looked up flights to Hawaii, but honestly? Just the thought of a nine-hour flight makes my back ache."

Mark chuckled, running a hand through his slightly thinning hair. "Fair enough. We don't need a massive trip. What about a long weekend? We could rent one of those A-frame cabins up in Door County. Just us, the lake, and a ridiculous amount of wine."

Elena smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Door County sounds perfect. We haven't been up there since before we bought this house. But only if we can also get a reservation at that little Italian place we went to on our first anniversary."

"Trattoria Stefano? I’m sure I can make that happen," Mark said, pulling his phone from his pocket to start a search. "I’ll book the cabin today if you want to look at the dinner reservations."

"Deal," Elena said. She stood up, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist. "Ten years went fast, didn't it?"

"Too fast," Mark agreed, resting his chin on the top of her head. "But a quiet cabin with no Wi-Fi and good pasta sounds exactly like my kind of celebration."

"It’s a date," Elena murmured against his flannel shirt. It wasn’t a flashy trip across the world, but as they stood together in their kitchen, it felt exactly right.


Rain drummed steadily against the kitchen window as Elena dried the last of the dinner plates. At the sprawling oak dining table, David was scrolling through his laptop, a slight, familiar frown creasing his forehead.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" Elena asked, draping the damp dish towel over the oven handle. She walked over and rested a warm hand on his shoulder.

David leaned back, covering her hand with his own. "A whole decade. Sometimes it feels like we just signed the mortgage on this place yesterday. Have you thought about what you want to do? I was looking at flights to Hawaii, but..." He sighed, gesturing to the budget spreadsheet open on his screen. "That emergency roof repair last month really took a bite out of our travel fund."

Elena pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. "We don't need a massive, extravagant trip, David. Honestly, with work being so crazy lately, the thought of navigating airport security and sitting through a twelve-hour flight sounds exhausting."

"Are you sure? Ten years is a major milestone. I really want it to feel special for us."

"Special doesn't have to mean expensive," she said softly. "What if we drive back up to the Blue Ridge Mountains? We haven't been to that little A-frame cabin since our honeymoon. We could hike, actually unplug our phones for a few days, and just be together."

David’s face softened, the lingering financial stress melting from his posture. "Just the two of us, a wood-burning fireplace, and absolutely zero cell service?"

"Exactly," Elena smiled. "We can grab a nice bottle of wine, pick up some ribeyes from that local butcher in town, and spend the long weekend remembering why we actually like each other so much."

David chuckled, finally closing his laptop and pulling her in for a kiss. "I love that idea. I'll look up the


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, catching the steam rising from Mark’s coffee mug. He leaned against the granite counter, watching Elena casually scroll through her tablet.

“So,” he said, taking a sip. “Two weeks until the big one. A whole decade.”

Elena looked up, a warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Ten years. We survived our twenties, three cramped apartments, and that disastrous road trip to Yellowstone.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” Mark said, setting his mug down. “How are we celebrating? Dave at work suggested that new Michelin-star place downtown. I checked the menu—it's tasting courses only.”

Elena chuckled, resting her tablet on the island. “Mark, you hate tasting menus. You always want a cheeseburger on the drive home.”

“True,” he admitted, laughing. “And it's ridiculously expensive. What were you thinking?”

“Honestly?” Elena traced the rim of her ceramic mug, looking out at their suburban backyard. “I briefly thought about a weekend in Napa, but dealing with airports right now sounds exhausting. What if we just… recreate our first anniversary? But better.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Takeout from Luigi's and a cheap bottle of Chianti on the living room floor?”

“Exactly,” Elena said, her eyes brightening. “Except this time, we don't have upstairs neighbors stomping around. We buy that expensive Barolo we've been eyeing at the local wine shop. We order the good pasta, leave our phones in the bedroom, and actually use our fireplace.”

Mark smiled, the lingering stress of planning an elaborate milestone instantly melting away. He walked over, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “An overpriced Italian red, excessive carbs, and you by the fire. Sounds perfect. I’ll call Luigi’s.”


Steam rose from the pasta pot, fogging the kitchen window that looked out onto their quiet Ohio suburb. Mark nudged the burner’s heat down and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"So, ten years," he said, looking over at Elena, who was systematically chopping basil. "We need to make a decision, El. The end of the month is sneaking up on us."

Elena scraped the bright greens into a small bowl and sighed, a fond smile touching her lips. "I know. I actually looked at flights to Hawaii today during my lunch break."

"And?"

"And I closed the laptop. It just felt exhausting. Nine hours on a plane, the time change, the packing." She walked over, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Do we really want our tenth anniversary to start with jet lag?"

Mark chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Fair point. But we can't just go to the Italian place down the street, either. It’s a decade. We survived three job changes, a mortgage, and that dark period where we tried to build our own patio furniture."

"A true testament to our vows," Elena agreed. She stepped back, her eyes brightening with a sudden thought. "What about renting a cabin near Asheville? We haven't been to the Blue Ridge Mountains since our first anniversary. We could hike, read on a porch, and actually talk to each other without looking at our work emails."

Mark considered it, picturing the crisp mountain air and the quiet, fog-heavy mornings. "A cabin. Just us, a fireplace, and zero airport security lines."

"Exactly. We can splurge on a really nice dinner in town one night to celebrate properly."

Mark kissed her forehead. "Asheville it is. I'll find a place with a hot tub if you promise to make the driving playlist."

"Deal."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Ohio craftsman, but inside, the fireplace cast a warm, steady glow. Sarah curled her feet under a woven throw, scrolling idly on her tablet, while Mark sorted through a small stack of mail on the coffee table.

"So," Mark said, tossing a credit card offer aside. "Next month. Ten years."

Sarah looked up, a soft smile breaking her concentration. "A whole decade. It feels like we should do something a little bigger than our usual dinner at Antonio’s."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Mark said, shifting on the sofa to face her. "I was looking at flights to Maui today. Or maybe we finally take that trip to Italy we’ve been talking about since the wedding."

Sarah sighed, leaning her head against the cushions. "Italy sounds amazing, Mark, but honestly? Just the thought of planning a European itinerary right now makes me tired. Work has been so chaotic lately, and coordinating two weeks off feels impossible."

Mark nodded slowly, his grand plans yielding easily to her practicality. "Fair point. I don't want us to spend our milestone anniversary stressed out about missing connecting flights. What if we kept it closer to home?"

"What about Cape Cod?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening. "We haven't been back to Chatham since our honeymoon. We could rent a little cottage by the water, eat way too many lobster rolls, and just... be together. No tours. No rushing."

Mark pictured the quiet beaches and the cold Atlantic salt breeze. It lacked the flashy appeal of a Roman holiday, but it sounded perfectly like them.

"A cottage in Chatham," Mark agreed, reaching over to squeeze her ankle through the blanket. "I'll start looking at rentals tonight. But we are still getting a babysitter and going to Antonio's when we get back."

"Deal," Sarah laughed, setting her tablet aside.


The Sunday morning sun spilled across the quartz kitchen island as Sarah scrolled through her tablet, a cooling mug of drip coffee resting near her elbow. Across from her, David was methodically buttering a piece of sourdough toast, the quiet hum of their suburban Chicago neighborhood drifting through the half-open window.

"Can you believe it's going to be ten years next month?" Sarah asked, glancing up from her calendar app. "May 14th is right around the corner."

David paused, the butter knife hovering. "Ten years. A whole decade of you putting up with my terrible snoring." He smiled warmly, sliding the toast onto his plate. "We should do something big. We've been talking about a trip to Hawaii since the honeymoon."

Sarah sighed, a soft, practical sound. "I actually looked at flights last night. Between the exorbitant cost and the fact that we'd only be able to string together four days off work, it feels exhausting. I don't want to spend our milestone anniversary rushing through TSA checkpoints."

"Fair point," David said, taking a bite and leaning against the counter. "So, what's the alternative? A fancy steakhouse downtown? That feels a little anticlimactic for a whole decade together."

"What if we drove up to Door County?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening. "We could rent a little cedar cabin right on the lake. No airports, no rigid itineraries. Just us, the water, and maybe a few bottles of really good wine."

David considered it, his posture relaxing. The idea of trading a frantic tropical trip for a quiet, nostalgic weekend off the grid immediately appealed to him. "Like the place we stayed when we first started dating? The one with the wood-burning stove?"

"Exactly," she smiled.

"Only if we leave our work laptops at home," David negotiated, walking around the island to press


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Portland kitchen, casting striped shadows across the butcher-block island. Mark leaned against the counter, swirling the last dregs of his coffee, while Elena scrolled thoughtfully on her tablet.

"So, the tenth is exactly a month away," Mark said, breaking the comfortable Sunday silence.

Elena looked up, adjusting her glasses. "I know. A whole decade. I was just looking at flights to Hawaii, but honestly? The prices are terrifying right now."

Mark chuckled, walking over to peer over her shoulder. "We don't have to go bankrupt to celebrate. Though I wouldn't mind sitting on a beach."

"Me neither," Elena sighed, closing the browser tab. "But between the roof repairs last month and the property taxes, a massive trip feels a little irresponsible right now. What if we did something closer to home?"

"Like a staycation?" Mark asked, pulling up a stool beside her.

"Not just staying in the house," Elena clarified. "What about that A-frame cabin rental up near Mount Hood? We went there for our second anniversary. We could hike, drink wine on the porch, and actually talk without work emails interrupting."

Mark’s face softened. He reached out, resting his hand over hers. "I like that. No airports, no crazy itineraries. Just us."

"Exactly. And maybe on the actual day, before we drive up, we can finally go to that upscale Italian place downtown? The one we always say is too expensive for a regular date night."

Mark smiled, already pulling his phone out to check reservations. "It’s a plan. A cabin in the woods and way too much pasta. Honestly, El, that sounds better than the beach anyway."

"I'll book the cabin," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Happy early anniversary."


The morning sun angled through the kitchen blinds of their Ohio home, warming the hardwood floor where Sarah stood waiting for the coffee machine to beep. At the island counter, Mark scrolled through his tablet, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"So," Mark said, glancing up. "Tenth anniversary next month. Two digits. We should probably figure out what we’re doing to celebrate."

Sarah poured two mugs, sliding one across the granite to him before leaning against the counter. "I was thinking about that yesterday. Do we want to do a big trip? My sister said they rented a cabin in Tahoe for theirs."

"Tahoe sounds amazing," Mark mused, taking a sip. "But honestly, with the roof repairs we just paid for, I’m not sure flying out to California is the smartest move. What about a weekend up in Chicago? We could get a room downtown, do a really nice tasting menu."

Sarah swirled the dark liquid in her mug, considering. The idea of dressing up, packing, and navigating city traffic suddenly felt exhausting. "We could," she said slowly. "But remember our fifth? We went to that fancy French place and spent half the night whispering because it was so stiff and quiet in there."

Mark chuckled, setting his tablet face down. "True. And I think I was still starving by the time we got back to the hotel."

"What if we just... stay here?" Sarah suggested, her smile widening. "We could take Friday off. Send the kids to your mom’s for the night. Buy those ridiculously expensive dry-aged steaks from the local butcher, open that bottle of Cabernet we brought back from Napa, and actually eat out on our patio."

Mark’s smile reached his eyes


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their suburban Ohio kitchen as Elena traced the warm edge of her coffee mug.

"It's exactly a month away," she said, her eyes fixed on the calendar pinned to the refrigerator. "Ten years."

David looked up from his laptop, the budgeting spreadsheet he was working on suddenly forgotten. "A decade. Hard to believe." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We need to do something real for this one. Not just our usual Tuesday night dinner at Arturo's."

"I was thinking the same thing," Elena agreed, leaning against the granite counter. "Part of me wants to recreate the honeymoon. Rent a cabin down in the Smokies, turn off our phones, and just breathe."

David smiled, though a familiar hint of practicality crept into his voice. "The Smokies would be amazing. But with the roof repairs starting next month and Lily's summer camp fees... maybe a full week is pushing it right now."

Elena sighed softly, knowing he was right. "Okay, true. But I still want out of the house. No laundry, no neighborhood distractions."

"What if we compromise?" David suggested, closing his laptop. "A long weekend. There's that historic bed and breakfast up in Door County we've been talking about for years. It's only a four-hour drive, we can stay for three nights, and it’s right on the water."

Elena’s expression brightened. She walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. "A long weekend. We can do the cherry wine tasting, sleep in, and actually finish a conversation without someone asking for a snack."

"Exactly," David said, covering her hand with his. "I'll look at the reservations on my lunch break today."

"Perfect," Elena smiled. "It’s not the mountains, but as long as it's just us, I don't mind."


The rain tapped lightly against the living room window of their suburban Ohio home, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and quiet. David sat on the sofa, balancing his laptop on his knees, while Elena scrolled through a tablet on the adjacent armchair.

"So, the fifteenth is exactly a month away," David said, peering over the top of his screen. "Ten years. We need to actually make a decision."

Elena sighed, setting her tablet face-down on the coffee table. "I know. My mom asked again today if we were throwing a big catered party. I just... I don't think I have the energy to host fifty people, David."

"Neither do I," he agreed immediately, closing his laptop. "Between your new promotion and dealing with the kitchen remodel, a party sounds like a second job. What if we just did a long weekend away? Just the two of us."

Elena smiled, pulling her knees up to her chest. "A long weekend sounds perfect. We could go up to the rental cabin in Michigan. No Wi-Fi, no contractors asking about tile grout. Just us, some good wine, and a fireplace."

"Michigan in November?" David chuckled, though his eyes lit up at the idea. "It'll be freezing."

"That’s the whole point. We stay inside." She reached out, resting her hand on his knee. "We could stop at that little Italian place in Ann Arbor on the way up. The one we went to right after we got engaged."

David covered her hand with his. "I like that. It’s quiet, it’s meaningful, and I don't have to wear a suit."

"Exactly," Elena said, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "I'll book the cabin tomorrow. You make the dinner reservation?"

"Deal." David smiled, feeling a quiet surge of gratitude for the comfortable, steady life they had built together over the past decade. They didn't need a lavish cruise to prove their love; they just needed time, and maybe a really good plate of ravioli.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home, blurring the gray Sunday morning light. Sarah leaned over the marble island, her hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug, while David scrolled idly through his tablet.

"So," Sarah began, breaking the comfortable silence. "Next month. Ten years."

David looked up, a soft smile softening the tired lines around his eyes. "A decade. We survived our twenties and a starter home with a constantly flooding basement." He set the tablet down. "We need to do something real to celebrate. I was looking at flights to Paris, but..."

"But we only have four vacation days left this year, and the thought of an eight-hour flight makes my back ache," Sarah finished for him, laughing softly. "As romantic as Paris sounds, I don't want to spend our anniversary jet-lagged and stressing about a packed itinerary."

"Exactly what I was thinking," David agreed, leaning forward to playfully steal a sip of her coffee. "What if we keep it closer to home? We could rent one of those secluded cabins up in the Hocking Hills. Just us, a fireplace, and absolutely zero cell service."

Sarah’s eyes lit up. Between her demanding nursing schedule and his long hours at the firm, the idea of disconnecting completely felt like an actual luxury. "No emails? No alarm clocks?"

"Just hiking, reading, and celebrating the fact that we actually still like each other," David said.

"I love it," she said, reaching across the counter to squeeze his hand. "Let's book it. We can even splurge on a nice dinner at that timber lodge we went to when we were first dating."

David pulled the tablet back toward him, his smile widening. "One cabin in the woods, coming right up. Happy early anniversary, Sarah."

"Happy early anniversary," she echoed, feeling a deep, quiet contentment settle over the morning.


The rhythmic hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as Elena wiped down the granite countertops. Across the island, Marcus sat with his laptop open, scrolling through their shared calendar.

"Can you believe it’s actually been ten years next month?" Marcus asked, looking up over his glasses. "We need to figure out what we’re doing."

Elena tossed the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the counter. "I was thinking about that today on my commute. Part of me wants to do something huge, like that trip to Napa we’ve been talking about forever."

Marcus winced slightly, a familiar, practical hesitation crossing his face. "Napa would be incredible, but with the roof repairs we just paid for, flights and wine tours might stretch us pretty thin. I want it to be special, though. No compromises on the 'special' part."

"Fair point," Elena agreed, walking around the island to look at the screen. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "What if we kept it within driving distance? We could rent a cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Just the two of us, no cell service, a fireplace, and a couple of really good bottles of wine."

Marcus’s expression softened. "A long weekend in the mountains," he mused. "Actually, that sounds perfect. We haven't been up there since our first anniversary. We could even stop at that rundown diner with the amazing cherry pie on the way up."

"Yes! The diner," Elena laughed, her eyes lighting up. "It’s a plan, then. No stressful airports, no crazy budgets. Just us."

"Just us," Marcus echoed, opening a new tab on his browser to search for rentals. "Let me see what cabins are available. Ten years, El. We definitely deserve some pie."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Ohio home, blurring the gray Sunday morning light. David leaned against the granite island, nursing his black coffee, while Sarah scrolled through the calendar on her tablet.

"Exactly a month," Sarah said, looking up. "The big one-zero."

David smiled, setting his mug down. "Ten years. We survived our twenties and a starter home with a bad furnace. We should do something big. I was thinking we could finally take that trip to Napa. Or maybe fly out to Sedona?"

Sarah sighed, a fond but practical look crossing her face. "I'd love that, I really would. But with the roof repairs coming up next month, dropping a few grand on flights and hotels feels… stressful. I want to celebrate, but I don't want to be doing mental math while we're trying to relax."

David nodded slowly. He knew she was right; the estimate from the roofing contractor had been steeper than expected. "Fair point. So, what’s the alternative? A fancy dinner downtown? That feels a little too brief for a decade together."

"What about a long weekend at Hocking Hills?" Sarah suggested, her eyes brightening. "We could rent one of those secluded A-frame cabins. No airports, no rigid itineraries. Just you, me, a roaring fireplace, and a couple of expensive bottles of wine we actually have time to drink."

David pictured it: the quiet woods, the crisp autumn air, the complete absence of their daily grind. It lacked the flashy appeal of a cross-country flight, but it sounded perfectly like *them*.

"A cabin in the woods," David said, stepping over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Steaks on the grill, zero cell service. I love it. Book it before they fill up."


Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the steam rising from Mark and Elena’s coffee mugs. Between them lay a battered wall calendar, the date "October 14" circled in thick red ink.

"Ten years," Elena said, tracing the circle with her index finger. "A whole decade. Part of me still feels like we should be doing that Maui trip we talked about when we first got married."

Mark leaned against the kitchen island, offering a sympathetic smile. "Me too. But looking at the quotes for the roof repair last week kind of brought me back down to earth."

"I know," Elena sighed, taking a sip of her dark roast. "And honestly, the thought of navigating airport security right now sounds exhausting. But I don't want to just order takeout and watch a movie, either. This is a big one."

"Agreed. No couch and sweatpants," Mark said. He reached over, gently covering her hand with his. "What if we compromise? We don't need a twelve-hour flight, but we do need a change of scenery. What about a long weekend at that bed and breakfast in the Blue Ridge Mountains? The one with the wrap-around porch and no Wi-Fi."

Elena looked up, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "The place we went for our first anniversary?"

"Exactly," Mark nodded. "We can hike, actually read those books we've been buying, and just be together. Plus, we won't have to empty our savings to pay for it."

"A cabin in the mountains," Elena mused, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "Fireplace, good wine, and absolutely no cell service. That actually sounds better than Hawaii right now." She pushed the calendar toward him. "Book it before I change my mind about the Wi-Fi."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Sarah dried the last of the dinner plates. Across the granite island, David was wiping down the counter, the smell of roasted garlic and olive oil still lingering in the warm air of their suburban home.

"So," David said, tossing the damp sponge into the sink. "Next month. Ten years."

Sarah smiled, leaning back against the cabinetry. "A whole decade. I feel like we should do something big to celebrate. A week in Napa? We haven't been since the honeymoon."

David leaned on his elbows, looking thoughtful. "I’d love Napa. But with the roof repair we just had to pay for, plus trying to get time off right before my quarterly reviews... it might be stretching it."

Sarah sighed, though it was a soft, understanding sound. "You're right. The new shingles took the wind out of our vacation fund. But I don't just want to do our usual Friday night takeout and a movie, David. Ten years is a big deal."

"It is," he agreed, walking over to wrap his arms loosely around her waist. "What if we compromise? A long weekend. We could drive up to that little bed and breakfast by Lake George. Just the two of us. No laptops, no worrying about the house, just hiking and actually paying attention to each other."

Sarah rested her chin on his chest, picturing the quiet autumn mornings on the water. It wasn't California wine country, but it was the exact spot where they had decided to move in together all those years ago. It held its own kind of magic.

"Only if you promise we can get dinner at that tiny Italian place by the marina," she bargained, looking up at him.

David grinned, kissing her forehead. "Deal. It's a date."


Rain tapped a gentle rhythm against the kitchen window as David poured two mugs of dark roast coffee. He handed one to Elena, who was curled up at the quartz island with her laptop, mindlessly scrolling through a local events page.

"Next weekend is the big one," David said, leaning against the counter and watching the steam rise from his mug. "Ten years. Have you thought about what we're doing yet?"

Elena sighed, closing the laptop and wrapping both hands around her warm mug. "I have, and honestly? Every time I look at flights or fancy beach resorts, I just feel exhausted. Work has been so incredibly draining this month."

"We don't have to go to Paris or Hawaii to make it special," David smiled, reaching over to steal a piece of her toast. "But we should definitely do a little more than our usual Friday night Thai takeout."

"Agreed. What if we do a long weekend trip up to the Blue Ridge Mountains? We haven't been to Asheville since we were first dating."

David’s eyes lit up. "A secluded cabin? Just the two of us, some light hiking, and maybe we finally go back to that brewery downtown?"

"Exactly," Elena said, her posture noticeably relaxing. "No chaotic airports, no rigid itineraries. Just packing the Subaru and driving. We can get a reservation for a really nice dinner out on Saturday night to actually celebrate the milestone."

"I love the sound of that," David said. "I can take Friday off so we can beat the Atlanta traffic. You want me to look for places?"

"Please. Somewhere with a fireplace, if you can." Elena reached out, resting her hand over his. "Ten years. It went by fast, didn't it?"

David squeezed her hand. "Faster than I thought. But a quiet cabin sounds like the perfect way to start the next ten."


Morning sunlight washed over the granite island of their kitchen as David set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Elena. She looked up from her laptop, adjusting her glasses.

"Ten years next month," she said, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. "Are we actually going to do something big this time, or just order Thai food and fall asleep on the couch by nine?"

David chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I think a decade of putting up with me warrants a little more effort than Pad Thai. What did you have in mind?"

Elena sighed, scrolling through an open browser tab. "Well, I looked at flights to Maui, but the prices are absolutely ridiculous, and trying to get a whole week off work right now is going to be a nightmare for both of us."

"We don't need to cross an ocean to make it special," David said gently. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "What about the Berkshires? We haven't been back to that little bed and breakfast since our first anniversary."

Elena’s face softened, the slight stress lines around her eyes easing. "The place with the creaky stairs and the incredible blueberry pancakes?"

"That's the one," David smiled. "We could drive up Friday afternoon. Spend Saturday hiking the autumn trails, find a nice quiet place for dinner, and just unplug. No laptops, no emails."

She closed her laptop with a decisive click. "You know, that sounds infinitely better than navigating a chaotic airport. It’s quiet. It’s just us."

"I'll call them today and see if our old room is available," David offered, reaching across the island to squeeze her hand.

Elena squeezed back, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Perfect. But we're still ordering Thai food on the actual Tuesday."


Rain drummed softly against the kitchen window of their suburban Ohio home. Sarah leaned against the quartz counter, cradling a warm mug of coffee, while David scrolled idly through his tablet at the island.

"Hey," David said, looking up, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. "Next month is the fifteenth. A whole decade."

Sarah smiled, the steam from her mug warming her face. "Ten years. We’ve survived three cramped apartments, a terrifying mortgage process, and your disastrous attempt to install the downstairs sink."

David chuckled, setting the tablet down. "I fixed the leak eventually. But seriously, how should we celebrate? I was looking at flights to Oahu. Maybe we try to recreate the honeymoon?"

Sarah walked around the counter and sat beside him. "Oahu sounds amazing, Dave. But with my software project launching at work and the new roof to pay for, maybe we don't cross an ocean right now."

"Fair point," David conceded, leaning back in his wooden stool. "So, no tropical sunsets. What’s the counter-offer?"

"What if we keep it grounded?" Sarah traced the rim of her mug. "We could book that little A-frame cabin up in Hocking Hills for the weekend. Just unplug. No laptops, no home repairs. Just us, a fire pit, and a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine."

David’s eyes softened as he pictured it. "And maybe dinner at that upscale Italian place downtown on the actual night of the anniversary? The one with the truffle risotto?"

"Exactly," Sarah agreed, resting her head against his shoulder.

David picked up his tablet again, swiping away the airline app and opening a new browser tab. "I’ll check the cabin availability right now. Ten years, huh? I’d say we’re doing alright."

Sarah squeezed his arm. "Better than alright."


The evening light faded outside their living room window as Elena scrolled absently through her tablet. "David, you realize the twelfth is exactly two weeks away?"

David looked up from the stack of mail on the coffee table, a slight frown creasing his forehead before his expression softened. "Ten years. Hard to believe. Have you thought about what we should do?"

"I was looking at flights to Maine," Elena said, tucking her legs beneath her on the sofa. "But honestly, coordinating the time off with my new project launch feels more stressful than romantic right now."

David set the envelopes down and moved to sit beside her. "We don’t need to cross the country to make it special. What if we kept it local?"

"Like the French place downtown?"

"We could," David mused, rubbing the back of his neck. "But remember that cabin we rented near Shenandoah for our first anniversary? The one with the terrible draft and the amazing porch?"

Elena chuckled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "We spent the whole weekend wrapped in sleeping bags playing Scrabble because the heater broke."

"Exactly. There’s a much nicer lodge just a few miles from that spot. We could drive up Friday after work, hike the Hawksbill trail on Saturday, and actually have a working fireplace this time."

Elena closed the airline app on her screen. The idea of the Blue Ridge Mountains, quiet and familiar, instantly lowered her shoulders. "A weekend in the woods. No flights, no itineraries. Just us."

"I'll make the reservation tonight," David smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "And I'll even let you win at Scrabble."

"You never *let* me win," Elena laughed, tossing her tablet onto the cushions. "But I'll gladly take the mountain trip."


The scent of roasting garlic filled the kitchen as David chopped onions and Maya stirred a simmering pot of pasta sauce. Outside their Ohio home, a cold November rain streaked the windows, but inside, the kitchen was comfortably warm.

"So," David said, scraping the onions into the skillet. "Ten years next month. Are we actually going to figure out a plan, or just panic-book a fancy dinner the night before like always?"

Maya laughed, tapping her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. "I’d like to avoid the panic-booking this time. It’s a big milestone. I was actually looking at flights to Napa."

David paused, leaning against the counter. "Napa would be incredible. But honestly, with the roof repairs we just paid for, dropping three grand on a trip feels a little heavy right now."

Maya sighed, her shoulders dropping a fraction, though she nodded in agreement. "I know. You're right. The roof took a big bite out of our savings. But I still want it to feel special, David. Not just our usual downtown steakhouse."

"I agree," he said softly, walking over to wrap an arm around her waist. "What if we compromise? We don’t need to fly across the country to unplug. What about that cabin rental place up in Hocking Hills? We could get one with a hot tub, take the Friday off, and just disappear for three days. No laptops, no chores, no driving in traffic."

Maya leaned into his shoulder, considering it. The idea of a quiet, uninterrupted weekend without the pressure of airports or strict itineraries suddenly sounded better than wine country.

"A hot tub in the freezing woods," Maya smiled, turning her head to kiss his cheek. "And we cook dinner together, just like this. Let's book it tonight."