The days following the poetry festival moved like sunlight through lace—soft, golden, and surprisingly still. Violet kept catching herself staring at her hand, where the delicate ring now rested like a whisper of a promise. It wasn't flashy or heavy, but it was there. Constant. Real.
And that scared her more than she'd expected.
She loved Adam—she knew that without question. But the idea of forever had a way of unearthing shadows she didn't realize were still buried. Not fear of him, or them, but fear of what she might lose if she became someone else in the process of becoming a "we."
It was late morning at The Hushed Hour. Violet sat in the reading nook by the window, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. She wasn't drawing much—just scribbles and shapes—but the act of holding a pencil calmed her. Across the room, Adam adjusted a few framed prints near the staircase. He had started preparing for a small photography showcase in the back of the store, his first local solo show.
"You're quiet," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
She chuckled. "True."
Adam walked over, slid down beside her on the rug. He tapped the sketchpad gently. "Want to tell me what you're thinking about?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she handed him the pad. On it were rough outlines of the bookstore: the doorway, the counter, the chairs, and them—two little stick-figure versions curled into the window bench.
"This is us," she said softly. "I keep drawing it over and over."
"I like it," Adam replied, tracing the lines. "We look pretty happy."
"We are."
"But?" he prompted gently.
Violet looked at him, vulnerability creeping into her voice. "What if saying yes means I change into someone I'm not ready to be?"
Adam didn't answer right away. He just folded the paper and held it between his hands like it was precious.
"You already said yes," he reminded her. "Not to a dress or a date. But to me. That's the part that matters."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm afraid of becoming someone who forgets who she used to be."
He kissed the top of her head. "Then let's make sure that doesn't happen."
That weekend, Tessa hosted her chaotic but charming family dinner at her grandmother's old house. Everyone came—Lucas brought a homemade pie that half-burned, Raj delivered artisanal bread, and Grace dragged Elena along with a bottle of cheap wine and enough sarcasm to fuel the table.
Violet and Adam arrived late, arms full of folded chairs and a nervous energy neither could explain.
During dinner, the topic of the engagement came up like a hiccup no one wanted to acknowledge too loudly.
"So," Tessa began between bites of roasted vegetables, "what does one call an engaged couple that refuses to plan a wedding?"
"Happy?" Violet offered dryly.
"Brave," said Raj.
"Delusional," Grace muttered.
Elena, sipping slowly, said, "Wise. Rushing things ruins more than it saves."
That surprised everyone, but no one commented. Instead, the conversation drifted to books, bakery disasters, and the terrible song Lucas had written for the spring market parade.
Later, as dishes clinked in the sink and soft jazz played from a radio in the background, Violet stepped outside onto the porch. Adam joined her a moment later.
"I don't want to lose what makes us... us," she said.
"You won't."
"You're so sure."
He tucked her hand into his coat pocket, their fingers lacing. "I'm sure because we've already made it through harder things. If all we do is keep choosing each other, we'll be fine."
Violet looked at the horizon where trees melted into night. "I want to marry you," she said, barely louder than the wind. "But I want to do it on our terms. No rushing. No fanfare. Just us. When we're ready."
Adam smiled. "That sounds perfect."
They didn't need a date. They didn't need a plan.
They just needed each other.
And that was more than enough.