The long-awaited day—the D-Day—had finally arrived.

The sun rose gently over the town, casting golden rays across the cobbled street that once stood as the line between rivalry and romance. Now, that street was a symbol of unity, framed by the familiar facades of Kaffeeblume and Espressoul, lovingly decorated with flowers, twinkle lights, and little banners that read: “From Beans to Vows” and “Espresso-ing Our Love Forever.”

Family, friends, and customers—old and new—filled the garden venue with warmth and anticipation. The place was buzzing with emotion, laughter, and the soft clinks of coffee cups specially made for the wedding, each with a little heart-shaped latte art printed on the side. Long-time patrons who had witnessed your journey from across café windows now wore proud smiles, holding back tears like they were watching the finale of a beloved series they’d followed from episode one.

Victor stood at the altar, tall and slightly stiff in his charcoal-grey suit, the coffee bean pin you had gifted him pinned neatly to his lapel. He looked every bit the charming café director he had become—except for the way his fingers twisted nervously around each other, and the soft trembling of his breath. He had always been confident with espresso machines and café orders—but weddings? That was a whole different pressure.

And then, the music changed.

You appeared.

He blinked quickly, trying to keep it together, but the tears came anyway. Silent, steady, full of wonder. His eyes glistened as he looked at you like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen. By the time you reached him, his cheeks were streaked with tears.

With a warm smile, you reached out and gently cupped his face, wiping the tears with your thumb. “Hey,” you whispered, “don’t cry—we made it.” He laughed softly through his tears, and the guests all melted at the tenderness of it. It was cute. It was so him.

And when the vows were exchanged and you were finally declared spouses, joy exploded across the venue. Cheers, whistles, applause—some customers even raised their coffee cups in a playful toast. The street that once divided your shops was now the bridge that brought your hearts together.

Soon after, the party began.

Music played as laughter floated through the air. Guests mingled, shared stories, and sipped signature drinks like “Marry-Me Macchiato” and “Forever Flat White.” Then came the centerpiece of the evening: the wedding cake.

It was a charming two-tiered confection, decorated in smooth white frosting with delicate coffee-colored accents. Latte art designs were painted across its surface—tiny hearts, rosettas, tulips, and even tiny doodles of you and Victor in barista aprons, holding hands across a cup of cappuccino.

You both stepped forward, holding hands and smiling as you cut the first slice together. Then came the fun part: the cake feeding tradition.

Each of you held your own fork. The plan was simple—you’d feed him a bite with your fork, and he’d feed you with his. You prepared your piece and turned to Victor, fork raised with playful ceremony. But Victor, caught up in the moment and clearly overwhelmed, lifted his own fork and—without a second thought—fed himself.

A beat of silence.

Then someone giggled.

Victor paused mid-bite, eyes wide as he realized what had just happened. “Wait—wasn’t I supposed to…?” he mumbled, mouth half-full.

You blinked at him, your fork still in midair. And then you laughed—loud, genuine, unable to help it.

The guests joined in, a chorus of chuckles echoing through the garden.

“You were supposed to feed me, sweetheart.” You said through your laughter, gently nudging his arm.

Victor blushed, covering his face with one hand and laughing too. “I panicked. The cake looked really good.”

It was sweet, silly, and so unmistakably you two. Perfectly imperfect, just like the love that had brought you together from across a cobbled street.

With flour-dusted beginnings, coffee-stained memories, and frosting-smudged kisses—this was the start of your forever...