Nest Tulum has a way of making everything feel softer—the way the wind moves through the palms, the way the light settles on the sand at the end of the day. That’s what drew Lea and Jonah to it. Not for a lavish party, but for something quiet. Something that felt like them.

They invited just twelve people and held the ceremony under the trees, barefoot, with the ocean just steps away. Lea’s dress was handmade from silk scraps, and Jonah wore a white shirt he’d owned for years. He added only one new thing for the day: a watch passed down from his grandfather, newly restored with custom wristwatch straps made from worn-in leather he found on a trip to Oaxaca. It wasn’t flashy—but it meant something. A small heirloom tied to time, and to memory.

As the sun dropped, guests gathered at a single long table in the sand. The food was local, simple, and served slowly. There were no speeches, no performances. Just long conversations, soft music, and a feeling that lingered well after the candles burned out.

At Nest, there’s not much you need to do. You just show up, say the words, and let the place hold the rest.