The museum exhibit had closed its first week to praise, applause, and a surprising article in the regional newspaper titled: "The Bookstore that Brought a Town Together." Violet cut out the clipping and pinned it behind the counter, beside a postcard from Paris and an old picture of her grandfather in front of the original Hushed Hour.
Everything had gone right.
Which, Violet thought as she rearranged a display of vintage travel books, was exactly why she was nervous.
She and Adam had fallen into a rhythm—work, laughter, meals with her family, weekends filled with local markets and photography sessions. But underneath it all, a question pressed against her ribs like a ticking clock:
What comes next?
They hadn't spoken about marriage again, and though she had told him she needed time, she felt the weight of his patience. It was a kindness—but also a countdown.
That afternoon, the door chimed and Grace burst in like a gust of wind, arms full of flyers.
"Don't kill me," she said, out of breath. "But I might've signed you up for something."
Violet blinked. "What?"
Grace handed her a colorful leaflet: "Elden Bridge Community Festival – Poetry Slam and Live Art Showcase."
"You entered me in a poetry slam?" Violet asked.
"You need to get your words out somehow," Grace said, not unkindly. "And I figured this would be less terrifying than, I don't know, admitting your feelings to a man who clearly adores you."
Violet gave her a long, slow look. "Grace."
"I'm just saying."
The festival was scheduled for Saturday evening. Violet didn't plan to attend.
But Adam found the flyer in her coat pocket later that night and raised a brow.
"Are you performing?"
"Absolutely not."
He grinned. "Then I'll go. I like a good poem about heartbreak and springtime angst."
She rolled her eyes, but something inside her stirred.
---
Saturday arrived, and the town center transformed into a sea of bunting, vendor stalls, and music. Local artists displayed their work in the park. Kids painted on canvas sheets laid over the grass. Raj handed out spiced lemonade from a food truck, while Lucas ran around with glitter on his face and a camera he insisted was "purely for artistic research."
The poetry stage was small, tucked between a tent of watercolor prints and a coffee bar hosted by Hazel & Brew. Violet hadn't planned to go near it—but Tessa dragged her anyway.
"You can sit in the back," she said. "No pressure."
Except there was pressure. Because when she arrived, Adam was already seated near the front, looking expectant.
She stood frozen for a long minute. Then her name was called.
Violet didn't remember walking up, only the weight of the paper in her hands and the echo of her voice in the mic.
The poem was simple.
It spoke of staying—not out of fear, but of courage. Of choosing to stay when leaving would be easier. Of building something imperfect but real. Of love that grew slowly and steadily, like roots beneath winter soil.
When she finished, there was a pause—and then the kind of applause that felt like warmth.
She stepped off the stage into Adam's arms.
"I've been waiting for that poem," he whispered.
"I know."
---
That night, they walked home together in silence. The stars blinked above Elden Bridge, and everything felt gentle.
Adam stopped her by the gate to the bookstore.
"You don't have to say yes," he began, reaching into his pocket. "But I want to ask. Not because I'm impatient—but because I know what I want."
He opened a small box. Inside was a simple gold ring, delicate and unadorned.
"I want you. Forever. In this town or another. With books and tea and all your complicated feelings."
Violet stared at the ring, then at him. Her heart beat loud in her chest.
She smiled, blinking back tears.
"I'm not ready for a wedding," she said. "But I'm ready to say yes."
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she kissed him beneath the stars, the bookstore glowing behind them.
In that moment, there was no doubt.
They were building a life.
Together.