You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a crinkly plastic tablecloth spread out with jars of paint, glitter, tiny pressed flowers, and two half-empty glasses of wine. Across from you, Simon leans on one knee, chin in hand, watching you with that lopsided grin he thinks you don’t notice. He chuckles, dips his brush into dark green—his favorite, apparently—and paints with careful, measured strokes, almost too neat to be casual.

“You’re such a nerd about this,” you tease, nudging him with your foot.

Simon glances up at you. “Yeah, but I like doing nerd things with you.”

You smile, trying to keep it subtle, but he notices. The silence between you is easy, the room filled with the soft glow of candlelight and the gentle strum of acoustic music in the background.

He chuckles, sets aside the candle he was working on, and reaches for another—plain and cream-colored—working on it quietly.

“No peeking,” he mutters.

“You’re being weird,” you reply.

“I’m always weird,” he says smoothly, and you let it go, content in the warmth of the room and his voice reading labels like they’re important. You don’t notice how still he’s become until he clears his throat.

“Alright,” he says. “This one’s done.”

You glance over, expecting another cute design. But your breath catches.

He’s turned the candle to face you. In his unmistakable handwriting, beneath a hand-drawn ring, are the words:

’Will you marry me?’