He pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair. “I had this horrible fear I’d wake up, and it’d all be a dream.”
“I think I had the same nightmare,” I admit.
We lie there for a few minutes, just enjoying the warmth and security our closeness provides. That is until his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.
I snort. “Real romantic, old man.”
He groans. “My pretty young wife is judging me already.”
“No. I’m thinking you need breakfast.”
He perks up. “I make an excellent pancake.”
“You grew up rich, and still learned how to make pancakes?”
“Listen, love and crazy chemistry may have built this marriage, but pancakes are what will sustain it.” He chuckles, placing warm kisses along the side of my neck.
We shuffle into the kitchen, still tangled up in each other, and he insists on cooking while I sit on the counter in one of his shirts. It’s way too big for me. But I think it might be my new favorite loungewear.
Flour ends up on Ben’s cheek. I try to wipe it off and somehow get it on his nose too.
He squints at me. “You’re sabotaging me.” He kisses me all soft and sweet, his hair still gorgeously rumpled from sleep. He leaves flour on my lips in return.
We both burst out laughing.
Later, we sit at the table with coffee and pancakes, legs tangled beneath it, sunlight spilling across the floor. This still feels more like a dream than reality. “You have no idea how much I wanted this,” he says.
“What?”
“A soulmate I could share coffee with each morning.”
I trail my fingertips over his dark stubble until that little dimple pops from his left cheek. “Well I never imagined a life like this was possible. Marrying a handsome man who’s so loving and supportive. I hit the husband jackpot in Las Vegas.” I giggle.
Ben reaches for my hand, thumb brushing my Ring Pop, now covered in flour. “You know,” he says quietly, “I don’t exactly know what forever looks like for us. My job may take me on the road while you have to stay here with your mom and attend school. But I never want you to doubt you’re my priority, Grace. None of it would mean anything without you.”
I squeeze his hand. “Good. Because now that I’ve finally found you, I’m not giving you back.”
Ben
We finally headout for dinner to celebrate our nuptials. It’s like our own private reception. On the way into the restaurant, I ask Grace if there’s a chance that Winnie could stay with her mom again, long enough for the two of us to go on a weekend honeymoon.
“Sure. I think we could make that happen.” Her smile is so wide it makes me stop in my tracks. Leaning in, I give my gorgeous wife a kiss.
From the moment we step inside Shagbark, I feel an excitement in the air. I’d heard Milton mention this place and knew I needed to bring Grace here.
The dining room combines rustic charm and refined elegance. There are rich wood accents echoing the shagbark hickory tree that inspired the restaurant’s name, and handcrafted tables and earthy ceramic dishes make the space feel both authentic and intimate.
Light fixtures hang like glowing lanterns, softening the room with golden warmth, while hunt-inspired artwork and artful details whisper of Virginia’s natural beauty. Every table has that sense of anticipation, as if everyone knows they’re about to share not just a meal, but an experience.
I’ve heard menus here change with the seasons, pulling in thefreshest local ingredients from farmers and fishermen alike. You might find perfectly seared pork chops, vibrant fried green tomatoes with a crisp bite, or a rich, short-rib gnocchi that melts with every forkful. I’m simply excited to see what they offer.
In the bar area, conversation seems to flow easily to the many patrons crowded around it. In the main dining room there is low lighting, the soft clink of glassware, and servers drift about attentively without being intrusive. This place feels romantic and alive. Much the vibe I’m going for with the revamp of the restaurant at the Lake Anna property.
Yet it’s not the understated elegance and aroma of the place that has me stuck to the floor in shock. It’s the look of panic on Grace’s face.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my ex.” Dropping her hand, I wrap my arm around her, pulling her tight against me. She’s almost vibrating with anxiety, nearly as much as when we were at her mother’s, and she was sobbing.
