The printer on his desk buzzed and clicked while Tristan tapped his finger on his arm and paced his small office. He was nervous. He couldn’t help it. He’d just finished his first-ever book and it was with a sick sense of dread and excitement that he was giving Helena the final chapter to read. She’d had input throughout most of the story, but he had wanted to keep the ending a surprise.

As much as she’d pestered him, he’d managed to stay strong…even on those nights when she laid beside him, whispering in his ear, her hot tongue trying to coax the story out of him. He hadn’t caved, because he’d wanted to surprise her with the truth.

His head was filled with enough stories to keep him going for years… everything from wild fantasies to international spy espionage to one heart-wrenching tale about a lost love never found.

But the first story he’d completed was his own.

The printer went still and Tristan bit his cheek, squeezing his arm before uncrossing them and reaching for the pages.

Walking out of his study, he brushed past the hanging paper cranes adorning the corridor and glanced out the window of his little English cottage. He stopped to smile as he watched Helena pick a ripe lemon off the tree in their narrow backyard and sniff the yellow skin. She closed her eyes and smiled as she breathed in the citrus scent. Tristan adored how she made even the simplest pleasures so beautiful and compelling.

He’d moved to England a year ago, as soon as he’d graduated from Vermont College. His father had come with him to meet Helena’s family and help the couple get set up in their new cottage. It was a gift from her family, paid for by an early inheritance. Her mother had moved in with Aunt Sylvie and her husband. They lived just down the road, which was both a blessing and a curse. Helena’s mother had reluctantly accepted Tristan into her daughter’s life but still popped over frequently to check in. Sylvie was working on their behalf to reduce the visits, and Tristan was applying every ounce of his patience to make sure they went as smoothly as possible.

At least she couldn’t accuse him of not looking after her daughter. He’d become an expert on Helena’s condition, and over the past year the couple had set up routines and systems that made their adjusted life as simple as it could be.

Thank God her family is away this weekend.

Tristan fought a grin as he headed out to the backyard. To help Tristan out, Sylvie had convinced her sister to head to Devon for a long-weekend break with their parents, and Tristan was taking full advantage of the uninterrupted time. His insides skittered with excitement as he thought about the evening ahead.

But first things first, man.

Clearing his throat, he stepped onto the porch, catching Helena’s attention when he closed the glass door.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she turned to look at him. “Is it done?”

“It’s done.”

She let out a gleeful chuckle and wheeled over the flat grass.

He winced as he handed her the pages, praying she’d like them.

“Oh, take that look off your face. I’m going to love it.” She winked, then started reading.

Tristan chewed his lip. Helena was currently studying literature at a university in Oxford, excelling in all her classes the way Tristan knew she would. It meant that her critique of his work was always brilliant, yet sometimes tempered by brutal honesty.

Sitting on the sofa they had moved outside so they could look at the stars at night, Tristan bobbed his knee while he waited for her to finish. It didn’t take her long; the last chapter was brief and to the point.

Her face was radiant as she read his final words, then hugged the pages to her chest. “I love it.”

“You love it?” He leaned forward, skimming his fingers through her hair. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”

“Tristan.” She tipped her head and gave him an emphatic look. “It’s perfect. The world is going to fall in love with Author Tristan A. Parker.”

He cringed. “So you definitely think I should publish it, then?”

“I don’t just think it, I know it.” Her smile was kind as she met him halfway and kissed his lips. “You’ve come so far, my love. As have I. You’ve taught me to live in this world.”

“And you found me a home in it.”

Their eyes met and shone in unison for a moment. Tristan could have stayed locked there all night, drinking in her beautiful face as the day faded into dusk.

But Helena had more important things to do.

“I have a paper crane to write.” She went to move away, but Tristan grabbed her chair before she could. Putting on the brake, he scooped her into his arms and fell back against the sofa, capturing her smile with his lips before she could argue.

She giggled into his mouth as he mumbled, “The crane can wait.”

“Don’t let me forget,” she said between kisses.

He grinned. “Do I ever?”

She pressed her body against his before whispering, “No, but you always give me about three more before I can get to writing the one I intended.”

“That’s not a bad thing, baby.” He palmed her back and deepened their kiss, his heart swelling in his chest as he thought about the engagement ring waiting for her inside the paper crane beneath her pillow.

The final words of his book echoed in the back of his mind, as he picked up his future fiancée and carried her to their bedroom…

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