We don’t leave the coffee shop. Instead, the night unfolds right here—warm, glowing, perfect.
Turns out Gray rented the whole place, because soon, a small team rolls in quietly with trays of food. The air fills with the scent of roasted chicken, garlic bread, and something rich and chocolatey. The long counter is lined with our favorite coffee drinks—cappuccinos, lattes, hot cocoa with little marshmallows.
The small round tables that I’ve sat at a hundred times before—where I’ve sipped coffee, sketched designs, and laughed with friends—have been transformed. Each one is topped with a cluster of candles flickering softly, their light reflecting off tiny glass vases filled with greenery, soft blush roses, and deep red blooms. It’s simple. But beautiful. Effortless. Us.
I press my hand to my mouth, overwhelmed again. “Gray…”
He grins, slipping an arm around me. “I figured we’d go back to the day you crashed into my life.”
“This is perfect.”
Once everyone has a plate in front of them, Gray rises, reaching for my hand. “Before we eat, I want to pray.”
The shop falls quiet, the glow of the lights reflecting in the windows like stars.
“Father,” Gray begins, voice steady but thick with emotion, “thank You for this night. For Ivy—for her faith, her strength, her joy. For the way You’ve walked with usthrough every step. I pray You’ll stay at the center of everything we build together. Let our love reflect Yours—patient, kind, enduring. Let this night remind us of Your goodness. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
A soft chorus of amen echoes, and Gray squeezes my hand before we sit.
The rest of the night is simple, sweet, and full of quiet magic. We eat, we laugh. The playlist Gray queued up hums through the speakers—soft acoustic love songs, a little old-school Frank Sinatra, even a few of our silly favorites.
At some point, he pulls me close, swaying with me in the middle of the coffee shop, right between the bar and the tables. His hand on my back, his breath warm against my temple, the whole world melts away.
“This night couldn’t get any better,” I murmur.
He smiles against my hair. “Wanna bet?”
I pull back just enough to look up at him, my heart already racing. “What did you do?”
Gray grins, reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out a small folded sticky note that has worn edges, he’s clearly carried it around for a long time.
“I never told you about this,” he says, unfolding it. The edges are soft, the ink smudged in places, but it’s clearly been kept close.
He unfolds it slowly, gently, like it’s sacred.
“I wrote this the morning I met you,” he says. “Had no clue what was coming. I was sitting in the hotel room, asking God to take care of the woman I’d one day marry. That wherever she was, He’d keep her safe. Seen. Loved. Prepared—for me, and me for her.”
My breath catches as I read the short prayer scrawled in his handwriting. It’s raw, simple, beautiful.
Take care of her.
Wherever she is tonight hold her close.
Protect her heart, even the pieces she doesn’t show.
Surround her with people who remind her she’s loved.
Prepare her for the kind of love that mirrors Yours.
But what undoes me completely—what wrecks me—is the way the word “her” is scratched out in every line and replaced, carefully, intentionally, with my name.
Ivy.
“You’ve been in this prayer since day one,” he says, voice thick. “And I’ve prayed it every day since.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. I clutch the note to my chest like it’s a part of him. Because it is.
“Gray Bennett,” I whisper, “how on earth am I supposed to top that?”
