Page 19

CHLOE

I stared at Lincoln, my mouth slightly open, my tongue apparently on strike. Words—my lifelong friends, my weapons of choice, my shields—had completely abandoned me. Traitors.

Lincoln remained on one knee, ring box open, his expression hovering somewhere between hope and concern. The silver band nestled inside caught the light from my cottage windows, sending tiny prisms dancing across the hardwood floor.

"Chloe?" Lincoln's voice was gentle. "You don't have to answer right now."

My brain flashed back to our first meeting at the Bed and Breakfast, when he'd spilled coffee on my favorite book and I'd called him every invented curse word in my arsenal. Fazzleprickleshit . That was the first one. His surprised laugh had caught me off guard.

Then to our first kiss outside the Bed and Breakfast, when the streetlights had flickered in response to our magic connecting. The way he'd looked at me afterward, like I was the most fascinating text he'd ever encountered.

The night he'd sacrificed his family grimoire to save Assjacket. The moment he'd stood between me and Jenny without hesitation.

All around us, the cottage seemed to hold its breath.

My collection of crystals on the windowsill began to glow softly, responding to the emotional surge I couldn't contain.

The flowers in the vase on my coffee table—ones Lincoln had brought yesterday—suddenly bloomed fuller, petals unfurling in accelerated motion.

From the kitchen came a suspicious clatter, followed by the unmistakable sound of Frosty pretending he wasn't eavesdropping.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Lincoln reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I've seen you face down dimensional rifts, your psychotic sister, and Roger's inappropriate artwork collection without blinking. I didn't think this would be the thing that finally rendered Chloe Woolsworth speechless."

A small laugh escaped me, breaking through the emotional logjam. Tears pricked at my eyes—actual tears. I hadn't cried since my meltdown after returning Jenny back to the magical pokey.

"I—" I managed, then stopped again as the cottage lights dimmed and brightened in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Lincoln waited, still holding my hand, still on one knee, still looking at me like I was the answer to a question he'd been asking his entire life.

I tried to speak again, but instead of words, memories flooded through me like a magical current.

"Remember when you kissed me the first time?" I finally managed. "You looked so shocked when the lights went haywire."

"I was more shocked you didn't hex me on the spot," Lincoln said, still kneeling. "You'd spent the previous hour explaining why romance was, and I quote, 'a conspiracy created by greeting card companies and chocolate manufacturers.'"

The memory of his family grimoire disintegrating into golden dust as he channeled its ancient power through me to save Assjacket.

The centuries of Sands family history sacrificed without hesitation.

The way he'd collapsed afterward, magically drained, yet still reached for my hand to make sure I was okay.

"You gave up your family's most precious heirloom for this town," I whispered. "For me."

"Books can be replaced," Lincoln said softly. "You can't."

Jenny's face contorted with rage as Lincoln stood between us, his magic a golden shield against her darkness. The absolute certainty in his stance—not a hint of hesitation or fear. Just protection, fierce and unwavering.

"You faced down my psychotic sister without blinking."

"To be fair, I was blinking quite a lot. Her hair was doing that static electricity thing. It was rather distracting."

I laughed despite myself, remembering the countless evenings spent side by side on my couch, manuscripts spread between us, Frosty bringing us tea and making increasingly unsubtle comments about "how nice it is to see two people who clearly belong together."

All these moments—puzzle pieces of a life I never thought I'd have, never thought I deserved.

"I'm not afraid anymore," I said, the realization dawning as the words left my mouth.

I stared at Lincoln, my heart doing gymnastics my body never could. His hopeful expression wavered slightly as my silence stretched on.

"I'm not afraid anymore," I repeated, stronger this time. "And that's... terrifying."

Lincoln's mouth quirked into that half-smile I'd fallen for. "Only you could make fearlessness sound frightening."

A rustling sound from the nearby bushes caught my attention. I turned to see foliage shaking violently, followed by muffled cursing that sounded suspiciously like "feather-catching branches" and "nature's conspiracy against poultry."

Frosty emerged with all the dignity of royalty, despite leaves clinging to his feathers. He wore a miniature tuxedo with a slightly crooked bow tie. The formal outfit might have been the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen, if not for the tiny satin-lined box he carried in his wing.

"Timing, Featherbutt," I hissed. "We've discussed this."

"Excuse me for wanting to witness the culmination of my exceptional matchmaking skills," Frosty replied, brushing leaves from his tuxedo. "Do you know how difficult it is to find formal attire in my size? I had to threaten Marigold's enchanted sewing machine."

Lincoln, still on one knee, looked between us with amusement. "I see you were confident in her answer."

"More confident than she is," Frosty said, waddling closer. He extended his wing toward me in what I recognized as his version of a thumbs-up.

Our eyes met, and in that moment, all the sarcastic banter fell away. Frosty had been there through everything—my self- imposed isolation, my fears, my gradual opening to Lincoln and the possibility of happiness. He'd seen me at my worst and pushed me toward my best.

His small nod conveyed volumes. It's okay to be happy. It's okay to say yes.

"You know," I said, looking back at Lincoln, "when the Goddess sent me Frosty, I thought she was punishing me with the world's most annoying alarm clock. Turns out she was giving me family."

Frosty cleared his throat, which sounded suspiciously like he was covering emotion. "Less backstory, more answering the nice warlock before his knee gives out."

I looked at Lincoln, still patiently kneeling before me, and at the ring that caught the light in ways no ordinary diamond should. My chest felt too small for my heart, which was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"You know," I said, finding my voice at last, "someone's going to have to keep your magical grammar in check. Your last manuscript had three misplaced incantation commas that could've summoned a demonic hamster instead of a protection spell."

Lincoln's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a professional observation," I replied, my voice softening. "But yes, Lincoln. Yes to all of it. The editing, the magic, the life together. Even the inevitable arguments about Oxford commas."

Relief and joy transformed his face. He took the ring from its velvet nest and slid it onto my finger. The moment it touched my skin, the band constricted slightly, sizing itself perfectly. A soft golden glow emanated from the stone, spreading warmth through my hand and up my arm.

"My grandmother said the ring would know its rightful owner," Lincoln explained. "It's accepting you."

"That's convenient," I said, examining the perfectly fitted ring. "Saves a trip to the jeweler."

Frosty sniffled dramatically. "I'm not crying. It's pollen. From the romantic atmosphere."

Lincoln rose to his feet and pulled me into his arms. When our lips met, I felt a surge of magic circle around us, our auras intertwining in a visible dance of light. My hair lifted slightly in the magical current, and Lincoln's shirt rippled as though caught in a gentle breeze.

"Show-offs," Frosty muttered, but I could hear the happiness in his voice.

I pulled back just enough to look into Lincoln's eyes. "You realize the entire town probably felt that magical surge. We'll have company in about thirty seconds."

"Worth it," Lincoln whispered, kissing me again.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the air around us shimmered and rippled like heat waves over asphalt. The concealment spells dissolved, revealing what seemed like the entire population of Assjacket strategically positioned around the town square.

"Jezfucnuboobles!" I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin. "Were you all just... watching us?"

Marigold materialized first, somehow already holding two perfectly poured champagne flutes. "We weren't spying! We were... participating from a respectful distance."

"With invisibility spells," I deadpanned.

"It's more romantic that way," she insisted, thrusting the champagne into our hands. Her eyes were suspiciously wet as she bounced on her toes. "I knew it! I just knew it! Didn't I tell everyone?"

Lincoln squeezed my hand, looking equally surprised but considerably less mortified than I felt. "I had no idea we had an audience."

"Please," Frosty scoffed, adjusting his tiny bow tie. "Why do you think I wore formal attire? For my health?"

The sky above suddenly erupted with magical fireworks, forming shapes of books, quills, and what appeared to be a rather anatomically correct rooster. I looked over to see Zelda with her arms raised, directing the display with elegant finger movements.

"Congratulations, you beautiful nerds!" she called out, sending a cascade of golden sparkles raining down around us. The sparkles smelled like old books and lavender—my favorite scents.

Joanna emerged from behind the half-headless bear statue, carrying what could only be described as a three-tiered engagement cake. "I've had this ready for two weeks," she admitted shamelessly. "Been keeping it under a preservation spell."

"Two weeks?" I sputtered. "Lincoln just proposed five minutes ago!"

"Oh honey," DeeDee patted my arm. "We all knew it was happening. Lincoln here asked the town council for permission to incorporate magical elements in the proposal. Standard procedure."

I turned to Lincoln with narrowed eyes. "You asked the town council before asking me?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Magical protocol. Apparently there's a bylaw about public displays of affection involving dimensional energy."

"There is no such bylaw!" I protested.

Marigold giggled. "No, but it gave us time to plan all this."

I stared at the growing celebration around us, my fingers still tingling where Lincoln's ring had settled perfectly against my skin.

The crowd of Assjacket residents swarmed around us with congratulations and knowing looks, but all I could focus on was the ridiculous fact that our most intimate moment had been witnessed by what appeared to be the entire supernatural population of West Virginia.

"I can't believe you all conspired behind my back," I said, but couldn't muster any real annoyance. The champagne Marigold had thrust into my hand was excellent—probably magically enhanced.

"Conspired is such a harsh word," Lincoln murmured against my ear. "I prefer 'collaboratively ensured your happiness.'"

"Semantics from the editor," I shot back, but leaned into him anyway.

Three hours later, after we'd finally escaped the impromptu engagement party, Lincoln, Frosty, and I collapsed onto the porch swing at my cottage. The night air carried the scent of my garden herbs, and the magical fairy lights strung along the eaves cast a gentle glow over us.

"Well, that was..." I trailed off, watching the ring catch the light as I flexed my fingers.

"Magical?" Lincoln suggested, his arm warm around my shoulders.

"I was going to say 'exhausting,' but sure, we can go with magical."

Frosty paced the porch railing, his tiny tuxedo now slightly rumpled. "I've already started a list of potential venues. I'm thinking a winter solstice ceremony—the magical convergence will enhance your bond, plus the lighting will be spectacular for photographs."

I nearly choked on my breath. "You've appointed yourself wedding planner?"

"Who else has my impeccable taste and organizational skills?" Frosty puffed out his feathered chest. "Plus, I've been collecting wedding magazines since your third date. I have a vision."

Lincoln laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest against my ear. "Speaking of visions," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a folded document. "I wanted to share this with you when we were alone."

I unfolded the papers to find architectural drawings and a business plan. "What am I looking at?"

"The Assjacket branch of Sands Publishing," Lincoln said softly. "With a specialized magical division headed by one Chloe Woolsworth, soon to be Sands."

My fingers traced over the detailed plans. "A publishing house for supernatural authors?"

"Where magical beings can tell their authentic stories without hiding behind metaphors and allegories," Lincoln confirmed. "I thought you might like to build something that bridges our worlds—together."

Frosty hopped down from the railing to peer at the plans. "Does this include a private office for the editorial consultant? With a custom perch?"

"Second floor, eastern exposure for morning sun," Lincoln pointed to a spot on the blueprint.

I looked between the plans and Lincoln's hopeful face, feeling something unfamiliar settle in my chest—something that felt suspiciously like belonging.