"Finally!" Diana calls, wiping away a tear of her own. "We were wondering when you'd make it official."
Cal's arm tightens around my waist as we face our impromptu audience. "You knew?"
"Cal Rhodes," Diana says with fond exasperation, "you've been in here every other day for months, installing 'improvements' to the reading nook. Last week you added secret compartments to hold engagement-themed books. We're librarians—we notice details."
Laughter ripples through the small crowd. Cal shakes his head, but he's smiling, no longer bothered by the attention.
"We should probably head to the art show," I say, though I'm reluctant to end this perfect moment.
"One more thing first." Cal reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a miniature book, no bigger than a matchbox. He crosses to the reading tree and kneels, opening a fairy door I hadn't noticed before—one designed to blend perfectly with the trunk.
"What's this?" I ask, joining him.
"Our first chapter." He places the tiny book inside the hidden compartment. "I thought we should keep it here, where it all began."
I peer closer and realize the miniature book is actually a wooden box. Inside rests a small scroll of paper, tied with a red thread.
"Read it later," Cal says, closing the fairy door with a soft click. "For now, we have an art show to attend."
Hand in hand, we walk toward the community room, stopping every few feet to accept congratulations from staff and patrons who've heard the news with the lightning speed unique to small towns. My ring catches the light, the wood and silver blending perfectly. Just like Cal and me.
"You realize the children are going to insist our wedding happens right here, under the reading tree," I say as we approach the community room.
"I can think of worse places." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "Though your mother might have other ideas."
I laugh, imagining my mother's face at the suggestion of a library wedding. "We'll figure it out. We're good at collaborating."
"The best." He pauses at the community room door, his expression suddenly serious. "Molly, I want you to know: you were never too much. You were exactly what I needed, even when I was afraid to admit it."
Tears threaten again at his words. "And you were never not enough, Cal. You were just waiting for the right story to join."
"Our story," he says softly.
"Just beginning," I agree, rising on tiptoe for one more kiss before we enter the bustling room.
Later that night, curled together in the window seat of my apartment—soon to be our apartment—I finally unroll the tinyscroll from the fairy door compartment. Cal watches, his arm warm around my shoulders, as I read the words written in his precise handwriting:
Once upon a time, a woodworker built a tree, and a librarian filled it with stories. Together, they discovered the greatest story of all: their own. May it be filled with wonder, joy, and love ever after.
I look up at Cal, this man who once feared he didn't have the right words, who has just given me the most perfect ones.
"I love you," I whisper, tucking the scroll carefully into my journal. "Our story is going to be amazing."
"It already is," he says, drawing me closer. "And like all the best stories, it's one we'll keep telling—to our children, to their children—for years to come."
Outside, stars appear in the darkening sky, real constellations to match the ones we painted together. Inside, wrapped in Cal's arms, I'm exactly where I belong. Neither too much nor not enough, but perfectly, wonderfully right.
The future stretches before us, full of possibilities, full of stories waiting to be told. And like the best books in the library, ours is one I can't wait to read, page by beautiful page, chapter by wonderful chapter, for all the days of our happily ever after.
