AMELIA

Six months into my new life, here I am, doing my spiel in the East Village. RhythmRoutes is now a five-star Google pick on every music lover’s list, thanks to a blend of humor, history, and the occasional celebrity sighting—namely, my boyfriend Jake Cunningham.

He’s become something of a fixture, blending seamlessly into the backdrop of my musical pilgrimage. He laughs with the tourists, answers questions about the neighborhood with facts he’s picked up, and manages to take a few photos with fans without ever stealing the spotlight.

We pause in front of the former site of the Gem Spa. A figure detached itself from the shadows—a press person, camera waiting.

“Jake, Amelia,” he calls out, sidling closer, a wolfish grin spreading over his thin lips. “Benji Price from TMZ. Can we talk about the rumors of your upcoming?—”

Before he finishes, a huge shadow falls across his screen. One of Jessica’s hired “buffers” appears—Jake’s idea to add a little extra muscle when the crowd gets too cozy. This one’s a big chap, bald, biceps thick as tree trunks, with a habit of showing pictures of his miniature cockapoo to anyone willing.

“Wrong show, buddy. Here’s how this works,” he begins, voice edged with steel, “You gotta be here for music, history, or the neighborhood. Anything else? Irrelevant.”

The reporter chuckles nervously. “I was wondering about?—”

“Don’t,” he replies, gaze narrowing. “Ms. Stevens is part of Gotham Guides and the Titans. Keep it classy or keep it moving.”

Benji, aware of the many eyes on him, nods meekly and mumbles about having what he needs and beats a hasty retreat.

Jake grins and holds up his fist. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” The security guy’s reluctant bump is paired with a headshake. He’s done this dance with him before.

I smirk and pick up where I left off, rolling along until we hit our final destination. I wrap up, offering recommendations for those wanting to explore further, and the group disperses.

Soon, it’s just the two of us.

“Nailed it,” he says, his arm sneaking around my waist to pull me into his side. “You were amazing, as usual.”

I snuggle into him, “It’s easy to be amazing when I’ve got the best material to work with,” I reply, my head resting against his shoulder. I still can’t believe how everything has turned out. “Ready to go home?” I ask.

Jake nudges me. “Economy Candy’s a couple of blocks away.”

Well, it’s not as if I’m about to refuse an offer like that.

JAKE

Hand in hand, we make our way to Economy Candy, its striped canopy fluttering in the light summer breeze. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sugar and nostalgia.

Amelia eagerly grabs a basket, and dives into the labyrinth of narrow aisles. In minutes, it fills with a colorful assortment—everything from sour worms and peppermint sticks to a generous handful of Twizzlers. When it’s almost to the top, I catch the eye of the shopkeeper, and he gives me a subtle nod. I gently nudge her to a tucked away corner at the back of the store.

“Hey. Look.” I point to a shiny new vending machine nestled between shelves of gumballs and licorice. “They’ve got those egg things of yours.”

Amelia peers at it, her eyes lighting up for a moment before she shrugs. “Oh nice. They’re usually too big for the machines.”

I’m well aware. I grin, feeling the change clinking in my pocket. “Then maybe it’s time to take advantage?”

She wrinkles her brow. “Why bother? No toys in them like the ones you get in England.”

“The chocolate’s not reward enough?” I tease, fishing out a quarter and flashing it at her. “Come on, you know you want to. Plus, you might be surprised.”

“You spoil me.”

“Of course—I love my sweets.” I drop a quick peck on her nose before pressing it into her palm. I swipe the basket from her other hand and nudge her forward.

She giggles and puts the coin into the slot and turns the knob. A glossy, foil covered egg tumbles down.

Amelia begins to peel off the wrapper. “Wait! You can’t have it now! I cooked. Don’t want you to ruin your appetite.”

“What was the point?” Her mock frustration makes me laugh.

“It’s always better when you savor it,” I say with a wink, taking it from her.

We pay for our haul and stroll westward, our conversation meandering from the upcoming season, to new spots she’s scoping out for her tours, to Yvonne’s latest ridiculous endeavor—a pirate-themed burlesque show. I’m too keyed up to hold on to the specifics.

Finally, we reach our brownstone in the West Village, our home of the last six months. We kick off our shoes and I shoo Amelia toward the living room.

I wipe my sweaty hands on the kitchen towel, peering at the lasagna I’d prepared as part of my grand plan. I don’t think I can wait. I grab the necessary props for the evening. No handcuffs on the agenda, though they’re stashed in my bedside drawer just in case my girlfriend decides to pull a runner. Good thing she isn’t inclined to leave—but it wouldn’t matter if she did. I’d totally call myself a stalker and follow her anywhere—Timbuktu, the moon, or even England.

Her grandmother is slowly thawing to me, she’d rather Amelia had returned to the UK. She discovered Ben and Margo were scheming to sell the inn to a corporate chain, and hired a management company to run the day-to-day, then fired them. Cue the theatrical mustache-twirl of villainous glee.

Tonight, however, is about a different kind of theatrics—Heidi doesn’t know it yet, but she’s about to get her fascinator.

“I changed my mind. Dessert before dinner?” I kiss her once, then again. But when she tries to take things farther, I draw back, my pulse pounds a mad rhythm as I hand her the egg. “See what fate has in store.” But it’s my own future that’s on the line.

She grins, fingers brushing mine as she takes it. “Aren’t you sweet?”

“You have no idea. But you will—starting now,” I say, voice rough. I go down on one knee, hardly breathing as she cracks the egg open.

Her indulgent smile transforms to shock as she finds a ring with a diamond that could double as a paperweight. “Marry me?”

She’s frozen for a heartbeat, before her expression shifts to sheer, radiant joy. She nods, grinning through tears. “Yes, Jake, yes!”

She’s barely uttered the words when I’m on my feet, hauling her into my arms, her laughter spills into my neck as I spin us. I pause and kiss her, deep and unhurried, and let the reality of this moment sink in. My heart races like it’s never going to settle down, and I press my lips to her hair. “The sweetest is yet to come.”

It’s a promise I intend to keep. Forever.