The next morning arrived with a clear sky and refreshing air. Celeste woke slowly as sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of their bedroom. The gentle chirping of birds drifted up from the garden below, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen.
But what made her smile upon opening her eyes was Alistair—already seated on the edge of the bed, wearing a white linen shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair still slightly tousled, and a broad grin on his face.
"Good morning, Mrs. Vaughn," he murmured softly.
Celeste blinked. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to order something special for you."
Celeste sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Order?"
Alistair stood and extended his hand. "Shower and get dressed. I'll wait for you downstairs. We're going out."
Celeste looked at him in confusion. "Where?"
Alistair smiled mysteriously. "A secret."
---
An hour later, Celeste stepped out of the house in a simple spring dress of pale cream, her hair half-pulled up, and comfortable flats. In the front driveway, a vintage silver convertible with its top down awaited. Alistair stood beside it, opening the passenger door with the grace of an old-world gentleman.
"Ready?" he asked.
Celeste nodded, and they drove through the quiet village roads. Lush trees, aged stone houses, and the scent of bread from roadside bakeries accompanied them along the way.
After nearly thirty minutes, they arrived at an antique-looking villa surrounded by wildflowers that grew freely yet beautifully. On its gate hung a sign: *Maison du Rêve – Bookshop & Memories*.
Celeste stepped out of the car, transfixed.
"What is this place...?"
Alistair took her hand and led her inside.
Dozens of tall wooden shelves greeted them. Every corner brimmed with rare books, old world maps, vintage journals, and even boxes filled with love letters from bygone eras. To the right, a large window framed a reading nook with blue velvet cushions, and on the central table... lay a small box tied with a golden ribbon.
Alistair pointed to it. "Open it."
With a racing heart, Celeste untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside... a dark brown leather journal embossed with her name: *Celeste Carter Vaughn*. And on its first page, Alistair's handwriting adorned the paper:
*"For every story you wish to write, and every day you want to preserve. This is yours—to document our future."*
Celeste covered her mouth with her hand, holding back tears.
"I know you love writing. And I know... you have a long story worth publishing one day," Alistair said, stepping closer. "This bookshop... I bought it last month. And today, I give it to you. The entire place. *Maison du Rêve*... is now yours."
Celeste froze. "You're joking..."
"No. This is your little haven. A place to create, read, write, or simply escape when you're tired of being Mrs. Vaughn. This... is your own world."
Tears streamed down Celeste's cheeks. She stepped forward and hugged Alistair tightly.
"I don't know what to say..." she whispered.
"Just say you're happy. That's enough."
And Celeste *was* happy. More than she had ever imagined. The world was no longer dark. She was no longer the lonely girl surviving the cold. Now, she was Celeste Carter Vaughn—and on this day, she felt truly... loved.
---
The afternoon sun streamed through *Maison du Rêve*'s large glass windows. Dust particles danced in the light, creating a scene where time itself seemed to pause with Celeste's held breath.
Alistair stood behind her, quietly observing every flicker of emotion on his wife's face. When Celeste touched the aged books on the shelves, her eyes sparkled. As she traced her fingers along the stories lining the walls, her small smile blossomed into something profoundly tender.
"This place... is like a little paradise," Celeste murmured, walking down an aisle between shelves.
"I wanted you to have a space where your heart can breathe freely. Without pressure. Without the world's gaze. This is yours. You can arrange it however you like, even write your own book here. And if someday..." Alistair paused, watching Celeste's back, "...you want to remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Vaughn, this place will keep that for you."
Celeste turned slowly. Her eyes glistened again.
"You know," she said softly, "since childhood, I loved reading, but my life was always about survival... so I never had time to dream too far ahead."
Alistair stepped closer. He cradled Celeste's face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears.
"Even now, I still can't believe I get to touch your life. To make you smile like this. I... just want to love you in every way that can't be put into words."
"You already have, Alistair."
They stood in the middle of the old bookshop, surrounded by thousands of unwritten words and unfinished pages. Outside, the evening breeze rustled the flowers in the small garden by the window. Everything felt peaceful. Safe. Beautiful.
Alistair took a deep breath, then retrieved something from his pocket—a small velvet box.
Celeste stared at it, puzzled.
"Alistair?"
He opened the box. Not a ring. But a round golden locket, engraved with lavender flowers along its edges. Inside, a tiny photograph of Celeste laughing—a candid shot Alistair had taken days earlier as they lounged on the balcony.
"It's not a grand gift. But I want you to know... I'm keeping your smile. And whenever you doubt the world, remember... your smile alone is enough to save my day."
Celeste closed her eyes briefly. Her fingers clasped the locket, then she pulled Alistair into a tight embrace—as tightly as her heart now clung to his.
"You're too good to me," she whispered into his chest.
"Not because I'm good... but because you deserve it."
---
Night fell gently. The bookshop was left behind with its warm chandelier glowing like a steadfast candle. In the car on their way home, Celeste rested her head on Alistair's shoulder, letting the world pass by outside the window.
"If I ever write a novel," she murmured, "I'll write about a stubborn, arrogant, infuriating man... who secretly knows best how to love."
Alistair chuckled. "I'll buy a thousand copies."
"To use as seat cushions?"
"To read every night, so I never forget... how lucky I am to have you."
Celeste laughed. And that night, their laughter became the sweetest melody in the old car—the sound of two people who were once lost, but had finally... found each other.