Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their Seattle craftsman, the kitchen was warm and fragrant. Elena leaned over the stove, carefully basting the rosemary lamb chops in brown butter. Ten years of marriage felt like a milestone that demanded a grand gesture, yet neither she nor David had the energy or desire for a crowded, overpriced restaurant downtown.

"How's the wine breathing?" Elena asked, nudging a stray curl from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

David stood at the kitchen island, meticulously arranging a charcuterie board. He paused to swirl the ruby liquid in his glass. "Perfectly. It’s opening up nicely." He popped a blackberry into his mouth and picked up the bottle of Cabernet they had saved from their anniversary trip to Napa five years ago. "Are you sure we aren't under-celebrating? A decade is a long time."

"I'm sure," Elena said, turning off the burner and reaching for the serving platter. "I'd rather be here, in sweatpants, with you. Can you grab the plates?"

"On it." David set down the cheese knife and retrieved their good china from the upper cabinet. He walked over to the dining table, where he had already lit two tapered beeswax candles, and set the places. Moving to the corner of the room, he dropped the needle on a well-worn jazz record. The soft crackle of vinyl filled the space.

Elena brought the food to the table, the savory scent of garlic and roasted potatoes wrapping around them. David pulled out her chair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before sitting across from her. He raised his wine glass, the warm candlelight catching his eyes.

"To ten years," David said quietly.

"To ten years," Elena echoed, clinking her glass against his. "And to staying in."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Seattle townhouse, effectively washing out the expensive dinner reservations Mark had made weeks ago. Instead of a dimly lit downtown bistro, their tenth wedding anniversary would be celebrated right here, over their scuffed quartz countertop.

Mark chopped garlic with practiced efficiency, sweeping the aromatic pieces into a hot skillet. "I'm actually glad we canceled," he said, adjusting the burner's heat. "Traffic downtown is a nightmare right now anyway."

Sarah leaned against the island, popping a stray cherry tomato into her mouth before reaching for the bottle of Cabernet. She retrieved two stemmed glasses from the upper cabinet and expertly popped the cork. "Honestly, me too. Ten years deserves good food, but it doesn't require stiff collars." She poured the dark wine, sliding a glass across the counter toward him. "Besides, your mushroom risotto beats anything Chez Pierre makes."

"Careful," Mark laughed, pouring broth into the Arborio rice. "My culinary ego is already fragile after losing out to the weather."

Sarah walked around the island and bumped her hip playfully against his. She picked up a wooden spoon and took over stirring the risotto while Mark turned his attention to searing the scallops. They moved around each other with the effortless choreography of a decade shared—stepping aside without looking, quietly anticipating the other's movements.

"I'll set the dining table," Sarah offered, turning down the heat slightly. "We're at least using the wedding china. I didn't haul those plates out of the basement for nothing."

"Light the taper candles, too," Mark added, carefully lifting the golden scallops from the pan.

Minutes later, they sat across from each other in the warm, flickering glow. Sarah raised her glass, clinking it gently against Mark's. "Happy tenth anniversary," she smiled, the stormy night completely forgotten. "Here’s to staying in."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland craftsman, blurring the streetlights into warm, amber smudges. Inside, the house smelled of roasting garlic and rosemary.

"I think we made the right call," David said, leaning against the marble island as he uncorked a bottle of Cabernet. He handed a glass to his husband, Julian. "Ten years married, and I genuinely prefer my own kitchen to a crowded restaurant downtown."

Julian smiled, taking a sip and savoring the bold, earthy notes of the wine. "Agreed. Plus, getting a reservation at Le Pigeon on a Friday night would have required a small miracle. Or a bribe." He turned back to the stove, stirring the mushroom risotto with a wooden spoon. "Can you check on the asparagus?"

David grabbed an oven mitt and pulled open the door, letting a puff of savory steam escape. "Perfectly charred. Just how you like it." He set the tray on the stove and stepped up behind Julian, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

Julian leaned back into the embrace for a brief moment before tapping the spoon on the rim of the pot. "Happy anniversary. Now, grab the plates before I overcook this."

They worked in easy tandem, a quiet choreography honed over a decade of shared meals and shared spaces. David set the small dining table by the window, opting for the good linen napkins and lighting two tapered candles. He didn't bother with a fancy centerpiece; the food and the company were enough.

Julian carried the steaming bowls to the table, taking his seat across from David. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered across their faces. There were no grand gestures tonight, no expensive jewelry or surprise trips. Just the two of them, a good meal, and a quiet house—exactly where they both wanted to be.


Rain lashed against the front windows of their Portland craftsman, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled heavily of roasting garlic. Mark stood at the butcher-block island, meticulously chopping fresh rosemary.

"I still can't believe we actually canceled the reservation at Le Pigeon," Sarah said, dropping her work tote by the hallway door and sliding her stockinged feet across the hardwood floor. She leaned against the counter, bumping her shoulder affectionately against his.

"No regrets," Mark said, scraping the fragrant herbs into a small ceramic bowl. "Ten years of marriage means we’ve earned the right not to shout over a crowded dining room. Besides, my dry-rub ribeye is better."

Sarah laughed, crouching to open the small wine fridge nestled under the counter. "You're not wrong." She ran her fingers along the bottlenecks before carefully extracting a dusty Cabernet Sauvignon they had purchased on their honeymoon in Napa Valley. "I'll decant this. Do we have a full game plan for the rest of the night?"

"I was thinking we eat at the coffee table," Mark suggested, turning on the faucet to rinse his chef's knife. "Fireplace on. Both of our phones left in the bedroom."

"Perfect," Sarah agreed. She grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer and expertly opened the bottle. "I’ll get the fire going and queue up that jazz playlist we made for the wedding reception. You handle the steaks."

Mark dried his hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her head. "A quiet decade down. Are you ready for a few more?"

"As long as tonight stays quiet," she murmured, leaning back into his chest. She turned and handed him a wine glass, their fingers brushing. "Happy anniversary, Mark."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Portland Craftsman, but inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of roasting garlic. Sarah wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and reviewed the recipe on her iPad. Ten years of marriage, she thought, and they were celebrating by making pasta from scratch on a wet Tuesday.

The front door clicked open, followed by the rustle of a damp raincoat. James appeared in the kitchen doorway, shaking wet hair from his forehead while balancing a brown paper grocery bag and a bottle of Chianti.

"I secured the goods," James announced, setting the wine on the granite island. "Though I had to fight off three people at Trader Joe's for the last block of good Parmesan."

Sarah laughed, stepping around the counter to take the cheese from him. "My hero. I've got the dough resting now. Are you still sure about this? We could have braved the weather for that French place downtown."

"And yell over a crowded dining room on our tenth anniversary?" James uncorked the wine, pouring them each a generous glass. He handed one to her, clinking the rim gently against hers. "No way. Sweatpants, homemade carbonara, and you. That’s exactly what I want."

Sarah took a sip, the rich red wine warming her chest. She leaned against the counter, watching him expertly chop the pancetta he’d just unpacked. They moved around each other in the small kitchen with a practiced, effortless choreography—a dance refined over a decade of shared meals, compromises, and quiet evenings.

"Besides," James added, tossing the meat into a hot skillet where it sizzled instantly, "I rented that terrible sci-fi movie you've been wanting to watch."

"You really know how to romance a woman," Sarah smiled, pulling her cutting board closer. "Happy anniversary, James."


Elias stirred the risotto, the rich scent of garlic and toasted arborio rice filling their Chicago apartment. Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside, the warmth was palpable. Ten years of marriage warranted a celebration, but after a grueling work week, neither he nor Nora had the energy for a crowded downtown restaurant.

"Are you sure we don't need the good silver?" Nora asked, pulling a heavy linen tablecloth from the buffet. She smoothed it over the dining table, expertly folding the napkins into crisp triangles.

"For my mushroom risotto? Absolutely not," Elias laughed, adjusting the heat on the stove. "The everyday stainless is fine. Though I wouldn't say no to the good crystal for the wine."

Nora grinned, abandoning the silverware drawer to retrieve two long-stemmed glasses from the top cabinet. She uncorked the aged Pinot Noir they had brought back from an anniversary trip to Oregon years ago, carefully pouring the dark ruby liquid.

"A whole decade," she murmured, walking over to hand him a glass. "Can you believe we survived three cross-country moves and that awful floral wallpaper in our first house?"

"I still have nightmares about that yellow kitchen," Elias said, clinking his glass against hers. He tasted the wine, sighing in appreciation before turning back to the stove to plate their dinner.

Nora lit a pair of taper candles in the center of the table, dimming the overhead lights. She brought over a fresh spinach salad, her movements a familiar, comfortable dance around his as Elias carried the steaming bowls of risotto.

They sat down together as the storm battered the glass outside. There was no jazz band and no extravagant bill waiting. Just the two of them, the candlelight, and a quiet, perfect milestone to savor.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Portland townhouse, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of roasted coffee. Marcus leaned over the granite island, a worn leather notebook open in front of him.

"Okay, so if we do the seared scallops to start," Marcus said, tapping his pen against the page, "I need to get to the fish market by three tomorrow before they sell out."

Elena looked up from her laptop, adjusting her glasses. "I can pick them up. My Friday conference call ends at two, and I drive right past Newman's on my way home." She scrolled down a webpage, double-checking her notes. "Are we still pairing it with the Pinot Gris? Because I've got that special vintage from our Willamette Valley trip sitting in the wine fridge."

"Perfect." Marcus smiled, crossing the market errand off his meticulously organized list.

It was their tenth wedding anniversary, a milestone that usually demanded a bustling downtown restaurant, overpriced appetizers, and shouting over a crowded dining room. But after a year of relentless travel for both of their corporate jobs, they had aggressively defended this weekend. No reservations, no formal wear, no guests.

"After the scallops, we have the mushroom risotto," Elena continued, closing her laptop. She walked over to the island, leaning comfortably against his shoulder. "I'll chop the shallots and prep the mushrooms while you sear. We can put on that jazz vinyl we bought in New Orleans."

"And for dessert?" Marcus asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Store-bought," Elena declared without hesitation. "That little French bakery on 4th Avenue. I already ordered the chocolate ganache tart."

Marcus kissed her temple, closing the notebook. "Scallops, risotto, ganache, and you. Best tenth anniversary ever."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and steeped in the scent of roasting garlic. Mark stood at the butcher-block island, expertly slicing heirloom tomatoes for the bruschetta. He wiped his hands on a flour-dusted apron and looked up as his wife, Elena, walked into the room carrying two crystal wine glasses.

"I still can't believe we actually managed to get my sister to take the kids for the entire night," Elena said, setting the glasses down and uncorking a bottle of their favorite Oregon Pinot Noir. She poured the ruby liquid, handing a glass to Mark.

"Ten years," Mark smiled, clinking his glass against hers. "A whole decade of marriage, and our wildest fantasy is eating pasta in our own dining room without anyone shouting about lost Lego pieces."

Elena laughed, taking a slow sip. She walked over to the wall, lowering the dimmer switch before striking a match to light the beeswax candles she’d arranged on the dining table. "We could have gone to that fancy new French place downtown," she noted, smoothing out the linen napkins. "Made a big production out of it."

"I'd much rather be here," Mark said, tossing a handful of fresh linguine into a bubbling pot of salted water on the stove. "Just us, a jazz record, and no reservations to rush for."

"Me too." Elena returned to his side, leaning her head against his shoulder as he stirred the pasta. She reached out, playfully stealing a slice of tomato from the cutting board.

They didn't need a grand gesture to validate their milestone. The quiet, comfortable rhythm of their shared kitchen and the promise of an uninterrupted evening were exactly what ten years of love looked like.


Rain lashed against the living room windows, but inside their Seattle craftsman house, the kitchen was warm and filled with the sharp, savory scent of roasting garlic. Mark set two heavy grocery bags on the granite counter and shook the rainwater from his jacket.

"Did you find the Pinot?" Sarah asked, looking up from the cutting board where she was expertly slicing cremini mushrooms.

"Got the exact vintage we had in Napa," Mark said, pulling the dark bottle from the damp paper bag with a triumphant grin. He walked over, wrapping an arm around her waist to press a kiss to her temple. "Happy tenth anniversary, Sarah."

"Happy tenth, Mark." She leaned into him for a moment before nudging him playfully with her hip. "Now wash your hands. These ribeyes aren't going to season themselves."

A decade ago, they might have braved the downtown traffic and the relentless Pacific Northwest downpour for a reservation at a loud, trendy restaurant. But as they had discussed earlier in the week, neither of them had the energy or desire for a grand, public spectacle this year. Between Sarah’s promotion and Mark’s travel schedule, a quiet Friday night in their own home felt like the ultimate luxury.

While Sarah heated the cast-iron skillet, Mark uncorked the wine and poured two generous glasses. He handed her one and picked up the metal tongs, taking over the stove so she could finally sit at the kitchen island.

"You know," Mark said over the loud, immediate sizzle of the meat, "my mother still can't believe we didn't book a trip to Hawaii."

Sarah took a slow sip of the Pinot, letting the familiar, oaky warmth settle in her chest. She looked at her husband, his sleeves rolled up, entirely focused on making their dinner perfect.

"Hawaii would be nice," Sarah smiled, "but I think I prefer right here."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Sarah leaned against the granite counter, a notepad in one hand and a half-empty mug of tea in the other.

"So, ten years," she said, tapping her pen against the paper. "Are we absolutely sure we don't want to do that fancy French place downtown? We could probably still get a reservation if we beg."

Mark looked up from the stove, where he was stirring a rich marinara sauce. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and stepped over to her. "Honestly? I spend all week in loud restaurants with clients. The last thing I want for our milestone anniversary is to shout across a candle just to hear you."

Sarah smiled, a genuine, relieved expression softening her features. "Good. Because I really just want to stay in sweatpants."

"Sweatpants it is," Mark agreed. "But let's elevate the food. I’ll make the truffle mushroom risotto we had in Florence on our honeymoon."

"I love that idea," Sarah said, writing it down. "Okay, I’ll handle the pairing. I’ll stop by that boutique wine shop on Elm Street tomorrow and find a heavy Italian red. And for dessert?"

"You're making those salted caramel brownies," Mark said, pointing his wooden spoon at her. "No negotiations."

"Deal." Sarah scribbled *brownie ingredients* onto her grocery list. "What about entertainment? No laptops, no work emails. Just us and a movie. Maybe that classic Hitchcock we’ve been meaning to rewatch?"

"Rear Window," Mark confirmed, turning back to the stove to lower the heat. "Risotto, red wine, brownies, and Jimmy Stewart. It’s a perfect plan."

Sarah wrapped her free arm around his waist from behind, resting her head against his shoulder. "Happy early anniversary, Mark."

"Happy anniversary, Sarah," he murmured, leaning back into her embrace.


Rain lashed against the front window of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of roasting garlic. Mark leaned over the granite island, a worn Italian cookbook pressed flat under his palms.

"So, the reservation at Le Petit is officially canceled," he said, looking up as his wife, Sarah, walked into the room. "I just couldn't stomach the idea of shouting over a crowded dining room on our tenth anniversary."

Sarah draped her cardigan over the back of a barstool, letting out a visible breath of relief. "Thank God. I love you, but the thought of wearing heels in this weather was completely ruining my romantic spirit." She stepped beside him, resting her chin on his shoulder to inspect the open pages. "What's the alternative? Are we finally tackling the truffle risotto?"

"I’ve already got the broth simmering," Mark smiled, bumping his hip affectionately against hers. "But I need a sous-chef to grate the parmesan and pick the wine. It’s a two-person job tonight."

"I accept those terms." Sarah walked over to the small wine fridge nestled under the counter, her eyes scanning the dark glass. She pulled out a heavy bottle of Barolo they’d been saving since a trip to California five years ago. "I’ll handle the wine, and I’ll queue up that jazz playlist we made for our first apartment. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect." Mark turned away from the stove, handing her a cheese grater and a wedge of aged parmesan. "Ten years, Sarah. Can you believe it?"

She paused, looking across the kitchen at the man she had built a life with. The house was peaceful, insulated from the city storm outside.

"I can," she said softly, reaching for the corkscrew. "Here's to a quiet night."


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland home, a fitting backdrop for the quiet night they had both craved. Ten years of marriage felt like a milestone that demanded a grand gesture, but neither Mark nor Elena had the energy for a crowded, overpriced restaurant.

"I picked up the ribeyes on my way home," Mark said, leaning against the kitchen island as he finally untied his work tie. He reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out the butcher-wrapped parcels. "And the good butter. The garlic-herb one you like."

Elena smiled, shutting her laptop on the dining table and stretching her arms over her head. "You're a lifesaver. I was just looking at the wine rack. Do we open the Cabernet we brought back from Napa, or save that for the actual weekend?"

"Open it," Mark said without hesitation. "Tonight is the night. Ten years, El. We’re not delaying the celebration."

She laughed, stepping up to the wine rack and pulling the heavy bottle from its wooden slot. "Deal. You season the steaks, I’ll get the roasted potatoes going. Oh, and I queued up that French movie we've been saying we'd watch for the last six months."

Mark washed his hands and grabbed the cracked black pepper. "Subtitles? On our anniversary? You're really testing my romance."

"It’s a murder mystery, actually," Elena retorted, deftly chopping a russet potato on the cutting board. "Romance is for the steak."

Working in comfortable tandem, they maneuvered around the small kitchen, a familiar dance honed over a decade of shared dinners. The heavy sizzle of the cast-iron skillet soon filled the room, mingling with the rich scent of searing meat and the deep, dark fruit notes of the freshly poured wine.

Mark turned from the stove and clinked his glass against hers. "Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary," Elena replied, perfectly content exactly where she was.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Portland bungalow as Sarah leaned over the marble island, scrolling through her calendar. Across from her, James was systematically chopping a yellow onion, the rhythmic *thwack* of the chef’s knife a comforting background noise to their Tuesday evening routine.

"So, next Friday is the big one," Sarah said, tapping her phone screen. "Ten years."

James scraped the diced onion into a waiting cast-iron skillet, the sudden sizzle filling the room. He wiped his hands on a striped kitchen towel and looked up, smiling. "A whole decade. My mom keeps asking if we’re going to throw a party, or at least book a tasting menu downtown."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I love your mom, but the idea of shouting over a crowded dining room sounds exhausting right now. Work has been entirely too loud this month."

"Agreed," James said, stepping around the island to wrap his arms loosely around her waist. "What if we just stay right here? I'll go to the good butcher on Thursday. Get those thick-cut ribeyes we made when we first bought this place."

Sarah’s face brightened, her shoulders dropping an inch. "Yes. And I can make my roasted garlic mashed potatoes. Oh, and we could finally open that bottle of Barolo we’ve been hoarding since our honeymoon."

"Steak, old wine, and sweatpants," James laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Very glamorous for a tenth anniversary."

"It’s exactly what I want," Sarah said, leaning into his chest. "We can light a fire, put on that old Coltrane record, and actually talk. No reservations, no dressing up."

"Consider it a date," James murmured, turning back to the stove to stir the onions before they burned. "The best one yet."


The rain pattering against the kitchen window made the prospect of staying in even more appealing. Mark pulled a bottle of Cabernet from the rack, dusting off the label with his thumb. "Ten years," he mused, reaching for the corkscrew. "Are you absolutely sure you don't want to brave the weather for that reservation at L’Etoile?"

Sarah leaned over the kitchen island, scrolling through the delivery apps on her phone. "Positive," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "I spent all week in heels pitching to clients in downtown Chicago. All I want tonight is you, fleece sweatpants, and an absurd amount of takeout."

Mark smiled, expertly popping the cork. "Sweatpants and takeout it is. Have we reached a verdict on the food?"

"I'm torn," Sarah said, tapping her chin. "We had Thai food on our actual first date, but that little Italian place on Fourth Street does those garlic knots you love."

"Let's do Italian," Mark decided, pouring two glasses of wine and sliding one across the granite counter to her. "We can light the good candles so it still feels festive. And I’ll cue up that jazz playlist we used for our wedding reception."

"Perfect," Sarah agreed, taking a sip of the red wine. "But only if I get to pick the movie afterward. And no historical documentaries this time."

"Deal," Mark laughed. "I'll call in the order if you want to go change into your fanciest loungewear."

Sarah picked up her glass and clinked it gently against his. "Happy anniversary, Mark."

"Happy anniversary, Sarah."

As she headed down the hallway, Mark pulled out his phone to order the pasta, feeling a profound sense of contentment. Ten years had brought plenty of grand adventures, but right now, a quiet, rainy Friday in their own living room felt exactly like a celebration.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of their Chicago townhouse as Elena and David stood side by side at the granite counter. Ten years of marriage had taught them many things, chief among them that a Tuesday night anniversary didn't require a chaotic downtown dinner reservation.

"I officially canceled the table at L'Amour," David said, slicing a loaf of crusty sourdough with practiced precision. He glanced up, wiping down the bread knife. "Just like we talked about."

Elena exhaled a long breath, her shoulders dropping in visible relief. "Thank God. The thought of wearing heels and shouting over a crowded dining room after the week I've had was making me dread our own tenth anniversary." She reached across the island, stealing a piece of the freshly cut bread. "So, what’s the revised plan? Because I did stop and buy that expensive bottle of Cabernet on the way home."

"Perfect," David smiled, bumping his hip playfully against hers. "I was thinking we recreate our first apartment meal. The terrible mushroom risotto."

"It wasn't terrible," Elena laughed, moving to the fridge to pull out the butter, parmesan, and a carton of cremini mushrooms she had secretly bought just in case. "It was just... a little crunchy."

"Which is why tonight, we're doing it right," he said, handing her a wooden cutting board. "You chop the mushrooms, I'll start simmering the broth. Then, sweatpants, the good wine, and we finally finish that jazz documentary."

Elena leaned in and kissed his cheek, the familiar scent of his cedar aftershave mixing with the earthy smell of the mushrooms. "Sweatpants and risotto. It’s the most romantic decennial anniversary I can imagine."

Together, they moved around the kitchen in a comfortable, synchronized dance, the quiet evening stretching out before them exactly as they both wanted.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window of their Portland Craftsman, but inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of roasting garlic. Mark scraped a pile of diced shallots into a sizzling cast-iron skillet, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

"Ten years," he mused, glancing over his shoulder. "I still can't believe we actually cancelled the reservation at Le Pigeon."

Sarah leaned against the marble island, expertly working the cork out of a bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. "Best decision we made all week," she said, pouring two generous glasses. She stepped across the kitchen, handed one to Mark, and took a sip of her own. "I love that place, but the thought of shouting over a crowded dining room tonight just felt exhausting. I wanted it to be just us."

Mark smiled, tapping his wooden spoon against the pan's edge before turning down the heat on the risotto. "Just us, wearing sweatpants, eating wild mushroom risotto. Happy tin anniversary, babe."

"Tin or aluminum," Sarah corrected with a laugh. She reached into the pocket of her cardigan, pulled out a small, neatly wrapped silver box, and placed it on the counter next to the cutting board. "Speaking of which, I didn't get you aluminum, but I did get you something shiny."

Mark wiped his hands on his apron, his eyes lighting up. "I thought we agreed to do gifts after dinner?"

"You know I'm too impatient for that," she said, stepping into his space to wrap her arms around his waist. "Besides, I wanted to see your face before the food coma sets in."

Mark kissed her forehead as the oven timer ticked softly in the background. Surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen, they stood together, perfectly content with the quiet, intimate celebration they had built for themselves.


Rain tapped against the kitchen window of Sarah and Mark’s Seattle townhome, mirroring the quiet hum of their Tuesday evening. Mark leaned against the granite island, scrolling through his phone with a slight frown.

"We don't have to go to Le Petit Zinc for our anniversary," he said, looking up. "I can cancel the reservation."

Sarah paused her rhythmic chopping of bell peppers, wiping her hands on her apron. "Honestly? I'd love nothing more. Fighting downtown traffic and shouting over a crowded dining room sounds exhausting right now."

"Ten years is a big milestone, though," Mark pointed out, setting his phone down. "I want to make sure it feels special. Not just another Friday night on the couch."

"It will be," Sarah said, stepping around the island to wrap her arms around his waist. "How about this: I’ll make the truffle mushroom risotto we had on our honeymoon. You build a fire in the living room and curate a playlist that strictly prohibits any of your awful 90s ska music."

Mark chuckled, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Deal. But I’m adding a task to my list. I'll swing by the wine shop on Elm Street after work and grab a bottle of that Oregon Pinot Noir we opened when we first bought this house. The good stuff."

"Perfect." Sarah smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "We can turn our phones off, eat by the fire, and actually hear each other talk."

Mark picked up his phone one last time, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Canceling the reservation now. Fancy is overrated anyway."

"Totally overrated," Sarah agreed, returning to her cutting board with a renewed sense of warmth. Ten years of marriage had taught them many things, but above all, it had taught them that the best place in the world was right here, together.


The late afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen blinds, casting golden stripes across the butcher-block island where Sarah and Mark stood. Tomorrow marked their tenth wedding anniversary, and after weeks of debating an extravagant weekend trip to Napa, they had mutually agreed on a celebration that felt infinitely more appealing: staying exactly where they were.

"So, are we sticking to the original game plan?" Mark asked, leaning down to inspect the bottom shelf of their small wine fridge. "Because I've got a 2014 Cabernet hiding back here that says we are."

Sarah smiled, tapping her pen against a notepad. "Absolutely. I've already pulled the recipe for the short rib ragù. It takes four hours to simmer, which gives us plenty of time to actually sit on the porch and talk." She crossed out a line on her grocery list. "But I need you to go to Trader Joe's for the pappardelle and fresh rosemary. I don't trust the produce at the corner market."

"Trader Joe's on a Friday afternoon? You really do love me," Mark groaned good-naturedly, standing up and grabbing his car keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "I'll brave the parking lot, but only if you're in charge of the playlist. Let's do the indie folk mix from our road trip to Maine."

"Deal," Sarah said, handing him the neatly written list. "I'll start chopping the mirepoix while you're gone. When you get back, we'll open that Cabernet, light the good candles, and turn off our phones for the rest of the weekend."

Mark took the paper, his fingers briefly catching hers. "Ten years," he murmured, a soft smile breaking across his face. "And my ideal night is still just making dinner with you."

"Don't get sappy yet," Sarah laughed, gently nudging him toward the hallway. "Save it for the wine. Now go, before the good pasta sells out."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago townhouse, but inside, the kitchen was a warm sanctuary of roasted garlic and melting butter. Elena adjusted the flame under the cast-iron skillet, searing the ribeye steaks with practiced precision. Tonight marked ten years since they had said their vows, a milestone that society usually dictated should be spent at a Michelin-starred restaurant downtown.

"I still can't believe we actually canceled the reservation," David said, leaning against the marble island. He expertly twisted the corkscrew into a bottle of vintage Cabernet Sauvignon, the soft *pop* barely audible over the sizzling meat.

"You were the one who suggested it," Elena reminded him with a smirk, flipping the steaks with a pair of silver tongs. "And honestly, I’m glad. The thought of wearing heels in this weather was making me reconsider our entire marriage."

David laughed, pouring the dark red wine into two crystal glasses. He stepped over to the stove and handed her one, letting his fingers linger against hers. "Well, I'd hate to lose you over footwear. Besides, your steaks are better anyway."

He walked over to the dining nook, dimming the overhead lights and igniting the cluster of candles arranged in the center of the oak table. He had spent the afternoon curating a playlist of their favorite jazz tracks, and as John Coltrane's saxophone began to drift through the room, the ambiance was set.

"Plates?" Elena asked, turning off the burner.

"Right here," David replied, pulling the pre-warmed ceramic dishes from the oven using a kitchen towel.

Working in tandem—an effortless choreography built over a decade of shared life—they plated the food. Elena paused, resting her head against David's shoulder for a brief moment. A quiet night in, surrounded by the home they had built together, was exactly how they wanted to celebrate.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Seattle townhouse, making the idea of venturing downtown completely unappealing. Sarah leaned over the granite kitchen island, tapping her pen against a lined notepad as she reviewed their options.

"So, for our tenth anniversary, we could brave the traffic on I-5 and try to grab a last-minute table at that new French place," she said, looking up at her husband. "Or we can officially execute Plan B."

Mark set two mugs of freshly brewed coffee on the counter, sliding one into her waiting hand. "Plan B," he said decisively. He opened the refrigerator, pointing to the bottom shelf. "I stopped at the butcher in Pike Place on my way home and grabbed two dry-aged ribeyes. I also pulled that 2014 Cabernet out of the wine rack."

Sarah’s smile reached her eyes as she crossed out the restaurant's name on her list. "Perfect. I picked up fresh rosemary from the farmer's market for those roasted potatoes you love. And after dinner?"

"After dinner," Mark said, walking over to the wooden media console, "we finally crack open that thousand-piece puzzle we bought in Oregon, and we put on the jazz record we danced to at our reception."

"No phones," Sarah added, closing her planner and walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he flipped through the vintage records. "No work emails, no scrolling. Just us, the steaks, and a quiet house."

"Agreed," Mark murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He pulled out the worn album sleeve, holding it up to the dim light. "Ten years is a milestone. You're absolutely sure you don't want the fancy white tablecloths?"

Sarah rested her chin on his chest


Mark chopped garlic on the butcher block, the rhythmic tapping of his knife filling the warm kitchen. Outside their Seattle townhouse, a chilly autumn rain drizzled against the glass, making the glowing interior feel entirely secluded.

Sarah leaned against the kitchen doorframe, kicking off her work heels with a tired but contented sigh. "Ten years," she said, holding up a dusty bottle of Cabernet. "Happy anniversary, Mark."

He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and crossed the room to press a warm kiss to her cheek. "Happy anniversary. I looked at reservations for that new French place downtown, but honestly?"

"Honestly, I'd rather put on sweatpants," Sarah finished for him, walking to the cupboard to pull out two oversized wine glasses. "The thought of shouting over a crowded dining room sounds exhausting tonight."

"Exactly my thought," Mark smiled, returning to his cutting board. "So, I’m making the mushroom risotto. The exact recipe we hopelessly botched on our third anniversary."

Sarah laughed, deftly uncorking the wine. "I'll handle the atmosphere, then. I'm thinking a fire in the hearth, the good wool blanket, and we finally watch that Hitchcock film that’s been sitting in our queue for six months."

"Deal." Mark scraped the garlic into a sizzling pan of butter. The rich, savory aroma immediately bloomed in the air. "Grab the parmesan from the fridge, would you?"

Sarah stepped up beside him, nudging him gently with her hip as she reached into the crisper drawer. They moved in tandem in the narrow kitchen, a well-rehearsed dance built on a decade of shared space and quiet understandings. A fancy dinner out might have been the traditional way to celebrate a milestone, but as Sarah handed him the cheese and clinked her glass against his, this felt absolutely perfect.


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."