Page 53 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Eloquent as always,” she said, laughing.

“That’s what she said,” he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. “And by she I mean you and by said I mean begged me to keep whispering dirty words in your ear while I—”

She kissed him into silence again. Which, he had to admit, was a pretty awesome way for her to say shut up.

“So,” she said when she was done kissing him for the moment, “you will not be abandoning your research, after all. You will earn your tenure.” She said it fiercely, as if she were about to throw hands with his dean.

“Yeah, eventually,” he said. “But not the way I’d planned.”

She pushed herself up to glare down at him. “You may use my garden. Or are you unable to work now that I have let it go? I can restore it. Perhaps not the same, but—”

“You don’t have to,” he said, running his hand through her hair. It was miraculously untangled. His was a mess of knots by now, he was sure. “I figured something out, and your garden isn’t actually what I need. I may mention it, but probably more to hang a lampshade on the whole fae garden thing.”

“You make no sense,” she said. She gave a haughty sniff and cuddled back into his chest.

“It’s what you said before.” He kissed the top of her head. “You said your emotions told the plant to imagine spring, a different spring. And I was thinking about it the whole way up here. What makes a spring different? Temperature. Rainfall. Maybe weather patterns bringing pollution from different parts of the world. So your garden is the catalyst, maybe. The idea. The light bulb. But to actually write a paper, I need to know a lot more.”

“But your job…”

“My dean’s not an idiot, thank god. He knows how research works. I may not have an earth-shattering paper to publish, but what I do have is a seed. A seed I can write a prospectus for, apply for grants with. It may not get me tenure straight up, but it’s a start.”

She rubbed her cheek against him. “Is it enough?”

He sighed, staring up at the flowers again. “I mean, if it’s not, there’s always other jobs. Maybe not in academia, but there’s no law against freelance botanical research. Who knows?” He squeezed her tighter. “I mean, with you by my side, I—”

Shit. He hadn’t actually asked her.

“Um, if you want to be, I mean,” he stammered. “By my side. This research is going to take a few years, probably. Lots of field work. Will you…join me for that?”

“Years?” she said thoughtfully. “Is that all?”

He heaved a deep breath. “It could take a lifetime.”

She raised her head, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Do you promise?” she asked quietly. “A lifetime?”

“Yes,” he said on a gust of relief. “All of my life. All of it.”

“Then yes,” she said, and kissed him as flowers fell around them and the sun shone and the wind whispered music in their ears.

It might have been his imagination, but he thought the flowers were blooming brighter above them.

Epilogue

Mara glared at the lime green Jeep in front of her.

“Why are there cans?”

“Because noise,” Ethan replied, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “It’s traditional.”

“It seems wasteful.” She was not going to argue about the noise. Ethan’s family and friends were in general loud, and for the most part she enjoyed it, in moderation.

“Don’t worry, we’ll recycle them after.”

“Hey!” Javier called from the yard. “You’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding!”

“It’s not a wedding!” Ethan shouted back. “We got married this morning at the courthouse!”