“No pressure,” Grandma teases, breezing past us as she makes her way to the children’s section with a stack of books for storytime. “Tell him I said ‘sorry, not sorry’ about ending his stupid plan to marry you at Candy’s Honeymoon Motel on Route 138 in the middle of the night before the ink was dry on your high school diplomas. If he still wants you, he’ll have more class now.”

“I’m seriously going to be sick,” Mom mumbles.

“Don’t listen to these bozos,” Lucky tells her. “I know it’s intense. He’s just as nervous as you are, and maybe it’ll be easier than you think. If you don’t hit it off, no big deal.”

Mom nods. “Maybe you’re right. It’s not a date. It’s just walking around the woods, looking at things in tents. I can do that.”

“All the food trucks will be there,” I remind her. “Even the egg roll guys from Victory Day if you want to take your chances again. Eating things on sticks—your favorite.”

“I do love food on sticks,” she admits.

“And hey, my mom knows this is a high-pressure situation,” Lucky says. “She’s got your back. Both she and my dad will be there if you need an escape. Seriously, you’ll be okay.”

“You just need an emergency word if the date goes bad,” Evie says. “Something to signal Kat and Nick that they need to get you out of there, stat. Like … ‘huzzah!’ ”

“Do you know how many people will be saying ‘huzzah’ at a Ren Faire?” Lucky says. “I guarantee you that you’ll be hearing a million versions of ‘huzzah,’ ‘wench,’ ‘master,’ ‘ladies,’ ‘lords,’ ‘doth,’ ‘taketh’ …”

“Pray, my lord, Phantom,” Evie says to Lucky in a terrible accent, “what oil dost thou prefer for polishing thoust sword?”

“Not sure why I even come in here sometimes,” Lucky says, burying his nose back in his book. “The customer service is atrocious.”

I loop my arm around his waist, and he slings an arm over my shoulders. “Probably because we’re the only bookshop in town.”

“Oh, r-i-i-ight,” he murmurs, smiling down before quickly kissing my forehead.

Evie bats dramatic, long eyelashes at us from the counter. “You two make me sick in the best way possible. Madame Evie says the spirits are delighted—please don’t stop.”

I stick out my tongue at her playfully, and then I tell Mom, “Don’t use ‘huzzah’ as your emergency word. Use ‘cornucopia.’ Like, ‘Wow, there sure is a cornucopia of food trucks here today.’ Inform Lucky’s mom when she comes in, so she knows to help you if she hears it.”

“I don’t need an emergency word,” Mom says. “Evie, I’ll be back to close up the shop.”