I was proud of Simon. He had a hard time when we first started making changes, but as others made suggestions and we put them in place, he started to understand Sean’s impact in his community wouldn’t be erased. He even made the biggest suggestion of all: cutting the run of Faire from six weeks to four. I’d mentioned to him what Stacey had said to me about those last two, hottest weeks of the summer being the least busy, and after we spent an evening crunching the numbers at his kitchen table, he realized we were right. Those two extra weeks were like a weight lifted from the whole town. Families with kids in Faire could take vacations at the end of summer; we could hire fewer acts over the course of Faire, which meant more money retained for the schools.

Over the winter I’d found a small apartment on the edge of the downtown area, so I finally got out of April’s guest room. Simon had made some noises about me moving in with him, but I loved being close enough to walk to work. Besides, I couldn’t picture living in his parents’ house, a feeling that only intensified when they came back to town for Christmas and I met them. They were wonderful people—though I retained a little resentment toward them for leaving Simon alone in his grief—but I felt like more of a guest at the Graham home than ever, and I didn’t see that changing if I moved my stuff in there. He didn’t push, which I appreciated, and we alternated time between our two places. I kept a toothbrush at his house, and he kept one at my apartment.

With Faire over again and the rest of August stretched out lazily before us, I went back to work. Chris and I alternated days at the bookstore for the rest of the summer to give us both a break. Simon dropped by sometimes to work on his laptop in the café, and if we made out in the classics section more than once after closing, the books never said anything.

So life had settled into a nice routine by late August, about two weeks after Faire had ended. I was at the bookstore on a Monday, even though it was closed, catching up on online orders, ordering the books for April’s next book club meeting, and other miscellaneous paperwork. I looked up in surprise when the door chimed, but it was Chris, letting herself in with her key.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said. “Aren’t you taking your mom to the doctor today?”

“Already did. Everything’s good, and she’s cleared to go back to Florida in October. Knowing Mom, she’ll be packed up in a week.” She moved past me to the back room.

“She loves it down there, huh?” I grinned at the spreadsheet I was working on, giving it only half my attention.

Chris groaned. She was not a fan of Florida. “Goddamn hot, buggy state with giant alligators waiting to eat your face. I don’t know what she sees in it.”

I snorted, and the door chimed again. I turned in surprise; Chris must have left the door unlocked. “I’m sorry, we’re not open . . . oh, hey.” I smiled to see Simon. Now that Faire was over he’d shaved off his beard, but I’d talked him into keeping his hair longer. Though truthfully, it hadn’t taken much convincing. He liked the way I ran my fingers through it.

That wasn’t the only piece of the pirate he’d retained going into the fall. The silver hoop earring stayed in his ear, even though his pirate days were over for the year. He’d have to take it out during the week at school, of course, but otherwise that small piece of jewelry seemed to be a touchstone for him, reminding him that Simon the English Teacher could have a little swagger too, could smile a little more freely. Captain Blackthorne the Pirate didn’t need to hoard it all.

“Hey.” He leaned across the counter, and I did the same on the other side to collect a quick kiss. “Any news on the summer reading front?”

I shook my head. “Not really. One or two. Your kids are worse than last year.”

He sighed. “Oh, well. I don’t care anyway. Come here.”

“What?” A startled laugh escaped me. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead he held out his hand, and instinctively I took it. “Come here,” he said again. “I need to talk to Chris.”

“She’s in the back room.” But he tugged on my hand, and I had no choice but to follow him out from behind the counter and into the back room.

“Your Majesty?” Simon’s voice carried through the back room of the store, and I looked at him in startled confusion. It was a good ten months before Chris was Her Majesty again.

Chris poked her head from around a shelving unit, smiling when she saw the both of us. “Simon, hi! I didn’t know you were here.” She didn’t sound convincing, and I was immediately suspicious. “What can I do for you?”

He cleared his throat. “Your Majesty,” he said again, his voice formal but not his accented Faire voice, “it has been a year and a day since you bound me to this woman. We have come before you today so I may declare my intentions.”

“A year and a day? What are you . . . oh.” My eyes went round. The handfasting. It had been on the last day of Faire last year, which would have been a year ago yesterday. With the new Faire schedule I’d lost track, but Simon had remembered.

If Chris was surprised by this, she didn’t let it show. “By all means, then, continue. I daresay you don’t need me around for the actual declaring, though.” She bustled past us, her purse looped over her shoulder.

I turned and watched her leave the back room and head for the front of the shop. A few seconds later the door chimed, followed by the thunk of the key turning in the lock. “That was weird,” I said, turning back to Simon. “What was that all . . .”

But he wasn’t there. I blinked at the empty space where he’d been standing a moment before, then looked down to where he knelt in front of me. A small square box in his hand. My eyes went even bigger and all the breath left my body. “Simon, what . . .”

“Shush, I’m declaring my intentions.” He smiled up at me, but that smile trembled. He held out his hand again and I took it without hesitation, even though my hands were shaking. Everything was shaking.

“Okay,” I said, my voice faint and not terribly steady. “What are your intentions?”

“Well,” he said. “I have four.”

“Four? Seems like a lot.”

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t lose his smile. “Are you going to argue with me about my intentions?”

I hiccuped a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Please continue.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “My first intention is to sell the house. I told Mom and Dad they have until Halloween to decide what they want to keep before it goes on the market.”

“What? Simon, that’s fantastic!” All of my nervousness drained out of me at this news. I’d wanted to suggest this for months. I’d hated the way his parents had foisted it on him, but hadn’t wanted to overstep.

“Yeah.” He acknowledged my outburst with a smile. “It turns out they didn’t think I’d want to live in it forever. They gave it to me as a nest egg. So I could sell it and . . . well, that leads me to my second intention.”

“Okay. Second intention. Go.”

“My second intention is to choose a new house, which I hope you’ll help me with, since my third intention is for us to live there together.”

“Both very good intentions. I like these a lot.” I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded when my brain was zinging with energy. “What’s number four?”

“Number four is the best one. The most important one. My fourth intention . . .” He swallowed hard, and his smile faltered. I knew what was coming now, and wanted to reassure him even as everything inside me shook with emotion. “My fourth intention is to marry you, Emily. Let me show you every day that you are the most important person in my life.” He drew a slow, shaking breath. “Those are my intentions. Do you approve of them? Will you marry me?”

I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if my voice even worked. So instead I dropped to my knees, and the ring box fell with a thud to the floor behind me as our arms came around each other. I pulled his mouth down to mine. “Yes,” I whispered. I tasted tears that could have been his but were probably mine.

The back room wasn’t as sexy as the classics section, but I soon discovered it would do in a pinch.