Niamh and Jeron sat side by side on their favorite overstuffed couch in the Duskcat Inn, listening to a young elven bard singing to her own lute accompaniment.

“That day at the Northgate, you were telling me about the Flower Moon Bazaar,” Niamh said, sitting pressed against Jeron’s side on a large chair in Captain Hawke’s sitting room. The meal had been amazing, the company lively (and lovely). Now, her thoughts turned even more to the man beside her.

“I was going to ask you to go with me,” Jeron said softly. “Lure you with promises of free food and let you beat me in all the carnival games.”

“You’d let me win on purpose?” Niamh laughed.

“Not at all. You’d soundly wallop me in any of those games of skill. Anyhow, now that the city is safe, I think we should make good on our intentions and go forth and be festive. It starts tomorrow, after all.”

“Really? That would be wonderful!” Niamh looked up at him, her stomach doing the little cartwheel it always did when she was around Jeron.

“Excellent! It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at five-bell?”

“Yes, please,” Niamh said, so happy she felt like she might burst. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

The next evening, Niamh paced nervously, the walls of her lodging feeling uncomfortably close. The sky outside the sitting room’s rosette window was sunset ochre, deepening to dark by the minute. She’d been dressed for an hour.

Dressed—and not in padded practice armor, torn dungarees with one leg half cut off or whatever else she’d slogged about in these last weeks. She toyed with the lacings of the simple, sunflower-gold dress she had chosen from a tailor’s shop earlier that day.

Her apartment was still warm enough from the full-west sun that she’d left her neck-lacings open at the throat. The dress’s skirting was airy, and the truesteel of her mechanical leg did not poke or jab at the fabric. Despite the warmth, she had unbraided her hair and let it fall over her shoulders and back, brushing it till it shone.

She hoped it would do.

A knock on her door made her drop her brush onto the floor.

“Coming,” she called out, pleased her voice wasn’t shaking.

Jeron waited for her, leaning on the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He wasn’t wearing bulky robes like normal. Just a loose-fitting shirt open at the neck and soft linen pants. Niamh waved Jeron in, smiling.

He stood speechless, staring at Niamh.

“What?” she blurted out, more nervous than before. “Don’t say something about me and dresses and cleaning up⁠⁠⁠—”

“I have to be honest, Niamh. You chose the color well. You look like sunlight personified.”

Niamh didn’t think she could blush any hotter—she was wrong. “I’m surprised by how easy it is to move about in it,” she murmured.

“And you are wearing the necklace I gave you!” Jeron reached out and lightly touched the compass resting against the bare skin of her neck.

Niamh held her breath.

I will kiss him if he does not move⁠⁠⁠—

Jeron backed away, his expression sly. “So, are we off then? The night’s young. I intend to make it one you’ll remember.”

“Absolutely, let’s go,” Niamh said, leading him out of the parlor, pleased she had somehow kept her hands steady enough to lock the door behind them. “Maybe I’ll have something unforgettable for you, too,” she added before she could stop herself.

Jeron’s smile widened. “Source, I’m such a lucky man,” he sighed, and they struck out towards the bazaar, shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching as the day faded into twilight around them.

“This has got to be what paradise feels like,” Jeron laughed. “This night is perfect.”

Niamh only grinned in reply.

Jeron didn’t need any words—he knew Niamh felt it. Because it was perfect—all of it. A big yellow moon hung above the treetops and spires of Easthaven. Niamh was at his side, quiet, peering at him from time to time from behind a curtain of gold-brown hair that matched her sunflower dress perfectly.

They’d wandered the bazaar, bought Jeron a new drafting-pen and Niamh amber cuffs for the tops of her ears, and eaten their way through a staggering array of food-stalls. After enjoying pints of mead at Ruthy’s, Jeron’s favorite beer garden, they grabbed fruit ice lollies and wandered outside. Ruthy’s was an actual garden, too—a maze of hedges and trees created private nooks where the lovers (or at least the solitude-lovers) of Easthaven could get lost.

The night air was still and warm, the air scented with salt from the Greatsea Bay, carnival foods, and a riot of flowers. Jeron wove through Ruthy’s back pathways, magical fairy-lights winking like fireflies in the hedges and flickering magelamps hanging from tree branches. Jeron spotted an empty hammock strung between two strong maples and tugged Niamh by one hand, dragging her past a clockwork sculpture of butterflies on the wing, beyond softly trickling fountains and towards the quietest corner of the garden.

“The best spot!” he exclaimed and collapsed, ropes creaking beneath him. “Hurry, Niamh.” He pulled her towards him. She staggered but landed gracefully next to him, the hammock swinging gently beneath her.

“Jeron, you ass,” Niamh laughed, clutching her treat in one hand while she clung to him for balance with the other.

“Be careful with that treat of yours,” Jeron countered. “Waving it around like that—you’ll get us both sticky.” He grinned at Niamh in the dim light filtering through lanterns hanging in the trees above them.

Niamh gazed back steadily, her smile fading into something subtle, something that warmed Jeron from head to toe.

“You are a mess yourself,” Niamh said and dove in so suddenly he couldn’t react, leaving a candy-sweet kiss on his cheek.

“Niamh, are—are you flirting with me?” Jeron gasped in mock consternation.

“Don’t you want me to flirt with you?” Niamh teased more boldly than before.

“What do you think?” Jeron’s heart thundered in his chest. He realized he was shaking and that he’d dropped his own candy somewhere in the grass beneath the hammock. Niamh was watching him, a slow grin crossing her face. “Retaliation is sweet,” Jeron laughed and grabbed Niamh by the wrist, taking a bite out of her fruit ice before planting a kiss on her cheek.

Niamh giggled, nuzzling closer to him. Jeron took advantage of their closeness, wrapping an arm around her so they half-sat, half-lay side-by side while the hammock rocked dreamily.

After a few moments of this gentle bliss, Niamh scooted so she lay against his chest. Jeron could smell the spring night on Niamh’s skin and hair. His heart gave up thundering in favor of wild galloping. He leaned in closer and kissed her—softly at first, then with a growing warmth, fruity-sweetness on her lips.

This night really was paradise. Finally, Niamh drew away, curling against Jeron’s side. Jeron wrapped an arm around her.

“I’ve wanted this, Niamh. From the moment I first saw you checking into our new post—a crown of braids like a warrior queen, sword at your side and shield on your back. And all of this, tonight—it’s making me giddy. You’re incredible.” Jeron craned his neck so he could look into Niamh’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted this, too. More than I could admit even to myself.” She reached out to trail one finger over Jeron’s cheek. “When I first saw you, you had engine oil on your face, goggles shoved to the top of your head like a mad scientist, some sort of wrench in your hand. You were grinning like a boy in a toy shop.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Jeron kissed Niamh’s hand. “You were—you are—a dream come true. You are perfect,” he added huskily.

“No. Just, perfect for you. Like you are perfect for me,” Niamh whispered against him, breath tickling his neck. They reached for one another, the hammock swinging wildly. Before either of them knew what was happening, the ropes twisted with a creak and toppled them to the ground.

Breathless quiet gave way to gales of laughter.

“Found my fruit ice,” Jeron giggled and flung the offending sweet out of their way.

Niamh ducked to avoid the swinging hammock, her hair wild around her face, her shoulders shaking with laughter. She looked at Jeron, then leaped forward and circled her arms around his neck..

“I’d like to finish that hug, please,” she said, leaning in against Jeron. Moon-rays and fairy lights glinted in her loose hair and in her eyes. Jeron circled her so tightly in his arms he could barely move.

“Niamh. Listen to me.” He distanced his face enough that Niamh would not mistake his expression. “All of this, here and now, and forever—I mean it. This is not a game to me.” Like earlier in the evening, he touched one finger to the compass at her chest. “True north, I promise.”

Niamh went still in Jeron’s arms.

“I mean everything I’ve done tonight, too,” she said, then dove in for a quick kiss and backed away again, looking at Jeron shyly. “And I will most definitely mean everything I still plan to do.”

“Thank the Source. Because I think I’m falling in love with you, Niamh Starsong,” Jeron felt himself heating from his head to his feet, shocked at his own honesty, at the pride and ownership in his voice.

“I’m already hopelessly in love with you, Jeron Wright,” Niamh murmured. She pressed closer. “Kiss me again before we’re eaten alive by sugar ants,” Niamh grinned and embraced Jeron so sweetly it was nearly unbearable.

Jeron held the woman he had saved. The woman who had taken him by surprise, who he’d cared for from the moment he saw her.

Who cares for me the way I do for her.

Jeron smiled with pure joy, the world fading away into Flower Moon magic and hope.