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every season.”
    “That sounds like a lot of work for you,” I said. “Are you willing to sign on for something like that?”
    “I would love it,” Thistle replied. “I love painting. I love decorating. I would spend every hour of every day doing it if I could.”
    “It would probably be easier if you were … closer … when it came time to do it,” I said, momentarily worrying now was not the time to broach the subject of us moving in together. I knew it would eventually happen. The barn transformation was still months away, though. I was hoping to be living in it by Christmas. Still, even if it was early, I wanted to lay the groundwork. Thistle sometimes needed time to ponder a suggestion before embracing it.
    “Maybe,” Thistle said, licking her lips. “We have time to talk about that later, though.”
    That was an obvious sign she wasn’t ready to discuss potential living arrangement changes just yet. I decided to follow her lead.
    “You’re going to help decorate Sam’s new ship, right?” I asked, shifting the topic to something I knew she would be happy to discuss. “That will take up some of your time. When is he getting that, by the way?”
    “It’s not due to be delivered for another few weeks,” Thistle replied. “I’m looking forward to decorating that, too. I have some outstanding ideas for ghost pirates. Ahoy, matey, I’m going to eat your guts for dinner!”
    I laughed at her imitation of a pirate. “That sounds cool,” I said. “I promised to help with any construction he needs.”
    “How are you going to do that and get everything handled here?”
    “It will all work out,” I replied. “I’m not doing the actual construction here so I can schedule time to help Sam between rides and taking care of the horses. I know he wants to have the boat up and running for Halloween, and I think it’s going to be a cool draw.
    “There are a lot of nautically-minded people in Michigan,” I continued. “A haunted pirate attraction will draw more people to Hemlock Cove, and that can only help the rest of us.”
    “You have an incredibly pragmatic mind,” Thistle said, brushing her lips against my chin. “I love you, Marcus.”
    I worried the first time I admitted I loved her she wouldn’t say it back. She’d been surprisingly giving with the words – and emotions attached to them. “I love you, too.”
    “We’ll talk about the other stuff when it gets closer,” Thistle said. “I just … later. Is that okay?”
    “That’s fine.” I meant it. I’m a firm believer that things happen when they’re supposed to, and you can’t force destiny’s timetable.
    As if on cue, the storm picked that moment to arrive and the sky split with a terrifying bolt of lightning. We picked a spot far enough away from the loft hatch that we wouldn’t get wet yet could still hear the storm as it rattled the stable’s wallboards and watch it through the open hatch.
    Beneath us I could hear a few of the horses shift in their stalls. The noise was somehow soothing, their presence relaxing.
    “It’s here,” Thistle whispered breathlessly. “It’s supposed to be a big one.”
    “What is it with you and storms?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You’re always excited and want to watch when one hits.”
    “I just like them,” Thistle replied. “They remind me that there’s something bigger out there.”
    “Like what?”
    “Power. Magic. Destruction.”
    It was a fairly profound statement from an entirely bewitching woman. “Well, relax,” I said, pressing her head to my chest as we turned our eyes to the window. “I think we’re in for one heck of a show.”
    “I think we’re in for one heck of a life,” Thistle said. “This is only the beginning.”

    W E SPENT a full hour watching the storm, my eyes growing heavier even as Thistle excitedly chattered away. It was an intense light show, but the sound of the rain beating on the roof lulled me, and eventually I drifted off.
    I slept