The cloudy days of spring were slipping by, and still the mermaid's pendant burned a hole in my backpack and my mind. Every night I held it in my hands and looked at it, fascinated by its beauty, and thought of what it meant, what it could mean. Was there any other interpretation of what the mariner had said that did not lead to marriage?

"Give that to yer intended and they'll know exactly what you mean," he had said, and I was finding it difficult to glean the meaning behind the words without feeling my palms get sweaty, and for palpitations to seize my heart. Was I ready to ask Sebastian to marry me? Was it too soon? I had known him for just over a year now, but it felt like much longer in some ways with how often I had seen him. And what would his reaction be? Would he say yes? Would he want to move out onto the farm with me?

I thought back to the spreadsheet he had put together for budgeting and the numerous times he had revealed that the book he was currently reading was focused around farming. Perhaps these had been subtle hints all along. Perhaps he had given this more thought than I gave him credit for.

But at the same time, I shouldn't assume, and I was brought back to the fear that rested in the pit of my gut.

So what's the worst that could happen? I asked myself as I tucked the pendant out of sight into my backpack one more time. He could say no, he could say maybe. An answer of "not now, but later" was not so bad, I reasoned. But he might say no with a terrible fury. He might say never with a heart-shattering vehemence. He might demand that our relationship end with no chance for redemption. I had already nearly lost him once before, and I didn't want to face that threat again.

But that, I reminded myself as I burrowed deeper into my blankets, was because I had been untrue to myself. I had made assumptions about what he had wanted without asking him directly. But this time, if I played my cards right, my words would be soaked with an unabashed honesty. I would be offering myself to him, my soul laid bare and raw. The very thought of it made me squeeze my eyes shut against the dizzying realities that could come with it. Engagement, marriage, moving in together—

But he deserves it, I thought fiercely, even as my chest heaved with the weight of my hidden plan. He deserves to know how I feel, he deserves to decide the fate of this relationship. He deserves the right to say yes or no. He deserves to tell me how he feels.

And so every day that I saw Sebastian, I kept this secret, this pendant, tucked out of sight. A part of me so badly wanted to clasp it into his hands and tell him that he was what I needed in my life, that it was him that I craved to taste every morning, him that I longed to hold in the dead of night. And yet every time I took in the fatigue that ringed his eyes and feasted on his energy, I held back. He was too busy for weekly band rehearsals now, how would he even have the time to consider my proposal?

It didn't seem likely that marrying me would relieve any of the burden that lay about his shoulders, gnawing on him, wasting him away.

And so it had been a most pleasant surprise when I saw his dark form coming down the path from the direction of town a few days later as the shadows began to grow long and the sky began to bleed purple. Spring was waning, stepping aside for the all-powerful summer that was just around the corner, and I was admittedly not looking forward to the heat.

"Sebastian," I cried, and dropped the potato I had just dug up. Running up to him, I skidded to a halt, suddenly shy, and all too aware that dirt was caked onto my hands, clothes, and flushed cheeks.

"Hi," he said, his lips upturning at the ends. Despite the obvious joy that bloomed across his face, the syllable he had uttered was lined with fatigue, and his eyes looked haunted from lack of sleep.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and almost grasped him in an embrace, but stopped myself. I was just too grubby to force myself on him right now. The disparity between his profession and mine kept a distance between us that made me miss my old life with a strange pang and longing.

But alas, Dog had other ideas.

"Oh, shoot, Dog, get down!" I said as I tried to pull Dog down off of Sebastian. He struggled against my touch, overjoyed at the sight of someone on his homestead who wasn't me. His muddy front paws had left very distinct, brown paw prints on the legs of Sebastian's black jeans and I cringed at the sight of them. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry, Sebastian. I'll wash your jeans, or buy you a new pair. I don't know if that mud will come out. Bad Dog!"

He woofed cheerily despite how I had raised my voice and I despaired, casting Sebastian an apologetic look.

"It's okay," Sebastian said, cracking a grin. "I'm doing laundry tomorrow, and I have lots of other pairs."

Dog wriggled out of my grasp and we watched him for a few minutes as he dashed about the field, barking happily. He came up to Sebastian a few times and looked up expectantly, but whenever Sebastian knelt down to pet him, he galloped off again.

Something about Dog's adorable goofiness brought out a playfulness in Sebastian that melted my insides. In the presence of this perky pup, that oppressive tiredness looming over him seemed to evaporate and lift as he was overcome with an infectious laughter.

"So," I said with a chuckle. Dog had finally calmed down enough for Sebastian to give him a proper belly rub. "What brings you around these parts?"

Sebastian shrugged, a smile still gracing his lips. "Ran out of food so I went to the saloon to get more and thought I'd take the long way back home. The more time outside the better, since I'm going to be in front of my computer for the next six hours."

I grimaced. "Ugh, that sounds horrible."

"It does. It will be." His smile evaporated for a moment, but Dog barked, asking for more tummy rubs, and Sebastian obliged, a smile spilling free once more.

Finally, Dog rolled back onto his feet and sprinted off. We stood beside each other watching him as the sunset tinged the land a hearty crimson.

"How's it looking for the deadline?"

"Not good." He sighed and slipped his hand into mine, and I was startled by his boldness. I gave his hand a squeeze, not caring about how much dirt I was pressing into the creases of his skin.

"I hate that," I murmured. "I hate deadlines and pressures, especially when they're unreasonable like this."

"Well," he breathed, "we might be getting more funding soon so there's some hope for an extension."

"That's good to hear."

"I'll get through it," he said and returned the squeeze I had given him earlier. "Are you ready for the Egg Festival tomorrow?"

"Oh, definitely," I said with a sly grin, glad to think of happier, lighter things. "I've been practicing sprinting around the farm." I released his hand and took on a runner's stance, waiting for a pretend pistol to signal my start.

On cue, Dog barked and I shot into the field, running down the line of parsnips that were waiting to be plucked, and the cauliflower that had only started to bud. I reached the end of the row and skidded, pivoting on the heel of my boot, only to rocket back towards the grinning man in black who I deigned to call my lover.

"Impressive," he said as I came to a stop beside him. He caught me as I stumbled, and Dog barked happily, pressing his front paws to the backs of my thighs. "You're going to take first place."

"That's the plan," I said, breathing heavily. As I looked into his eyes crinkled with mirth, I felt my pulse race and my body lean into him. He wrapped me in a dirt-covered embrace and I thought my heart would sing. How I had missed these moments together. Simple moments that reminded me of why I had fallen so irrevocably and fully for this creature, this moody figure with dark sensibilities and a tender heart. "Will I see you there tomorrow?" I asked, tone tentative and half-afraid.

He hesitated, a thousand thoughts coursing across his face in his silence. "Maybe."

I nodded, accepting of the truth if not a little disappointed. "There's no pressure from me for you to be there."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and sighed again. "I don't think I say it enough, but I appreciate that you put up with me and my work."

"Of course," I said quietly. "You put up with me and mine." I gestured at the land around us.

He grew pensive and sighed once more. "I guess I should head home now. I wish I came out this way more often, Dog's just too adorable."

My head bobbed up and down. "Yes, please do visit. Whenever you have the time," I added and reached out to grasp his arm, but ended up dropping my hand, embarrassed once again by how much mud was caked under my nails and along my fingers.

"Hey," he said, catching my trailing hand, "are you embarrassed by a little dirt?"

My cheeks burned once again. "It's a lot of dirt, but yes."

"Don't be," he murmured, pulling me close. "Dirt doesn't scare me." He pressed his lips to my forehead. I tried not to think of the patches of dried mud smeared there. "And if it did, it'd be my duty to accept it."

"Thank you," I whispered and reached up to kiss him, barely keeping down the discomfort and shame lining the bottom of my gut. He was right, though. "Like how it's on me to accept you when you're covered in motor oil after you work on your bike."

His smile was a slice in the encroaching twilight and my heart felt full. "Yes, exactly."