Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
9. Heartbeat Song
We’re engaged – that’s the one thing to go through my mind before it abandons me entirely. It’s been totally blown, all sockets fried, all wires alight. Is this really happening, I question myself. Do I honestly, truly get to spend the rest of my life with him?
For a moment the room is silent but for our thundering heartbeats. Logan and I gaze at each other as though both afraid we might be dreaming. That would be a logical explanation for how perfectly everything has fallen into place, for how he came out of nowhere and changed everything about my life. It certainly feels like a dream, or as though every element of the universe, or something equally as powerful, has been coordinating to bring us to this precise moment. Inexplicable, like magic. Unfaltering, like clockwork. Whatever it is, it leaves me utterly stunned.
I stare at Logan in sheer amazement.
He breaks the silence, saying, “Yes?”
“Yes,” I whisper again, more urgently. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” I tell him, my voice getting louder with every confirmation.
Abruptly my stunned stupor abates and happiness infiltrates every pore, every cell of my being. I lunge forward, kissing him ardently. I’ve never felt as happy as I do right now, not even fucking close! My heart hammers harder and louder the longer we kiss, and I play his question repeatedly in my head: will you marry me? It’s so soon, there’s no denying that, but it just doesn’t matter to me. All the things that I don’t yet know about him are not a deterrent. I know enough, I’m unalterably certain of that, and the more I accept it, the more emotional I get.
After a few impassioned moments, I can’t hold back any longer. I well up, tears spilling from my eyes, interrupting our kiss. As we break apart, Logan’s hand glides smoothly over my cheek as our eyes pour into each others. He looks so overcome by this moment, tears of joy pooling in his eyes too.
“I’ve been so in love with you for so long, Gemima,” he says quietly, his lips barely an inch away from mine. “The second I laid eyes on you I knew I wanted this moment to come.”
“I know,” I cry again, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “I love you too,” I tell him, over and over again.
He presses his lips against mine, and nothing in my life has ever felt so right. He murmurs a moment later, “There is something that you don’t know, something that I was so close to telling you last night, but,” he smiles, “I guess I needed one more day to find my courage.”
“You can tell me anything, Logan,” I promise him. “I don’t care if you have five illegitimate children and like to be gay every second Tuesday, I’d still love you and I’d still marry you.”
Logan laughs loudly, looking at me like he can’t quite believe his luck. I share his sentiment entirely. How did I get so lucky, so blessed?
“Tell me,” I urge.
“It’s deep, baby,” he warns me.
“I like it deep,” I say, before immediately rolling my eyes at myself. Seriously, Gem? Even now, during this beautiful, intimate moment, my American Mouth finds a way to say something like that!
Logan chuckles again, and tears fall freely from his eyes. I inch even closer to his body, cupping his face in my hands, wiping away his tears with my thumbs, while my own fall freely.
“Last night I told you that most of the guys I was friends with in my youth are now dead,” Logan says, and I nod. He takes a breath. “What nobody knows is that sometimes I’ve wondered why I survived,” he says. “It’s not self-pity, or survivor’s guilt…it’s just a question. Why? What’s my purpose?” His bottom lip quivers, and it’s clear to me that this question, whether heavy or not has plagued him for a long time. Confirming this, he continues, “For fourteen years it has lingered in the back of my mind – why was it so important that I have a second chance, that I have a second life when those other guys didn’t? What was waiting in my future that was so significant that I had to survive to experience it?” he asks me. “It was never about building my company, it was never about just being alive, there’s something more…”
“Me,” I murmur quietly.
“You, Gemima,” he nods surely. “You answered that question the moment I saw you at that party. Everything made sense, and it didn’t matter about Jerry and it didn’t matter how many years I had to wait, because I knew that being with you was my reason—”
“Logan,” I stop him, “you can’t give me the credit for the amazing way you started your life over.”
He smiles through his tears, looking breathtakingly beautiful. I am entirely enthralled by him. “I know I worked hard back then, long before I ever knew your name…but I’m giving you a bit of credit, even if that makes me mad,” he grins.
“Completely crazy,” I say against his lips. And yet I understand it, even if it awes me. Is it possible that I’m so happy I’m now bordering on insanity? Madness, passion, and love all infused together, coursing through my bloodstream. Logan’s eyes mirror my own internal state of awe, as does his next sentence.
“You are everything I want in the world, and that I am everything you want too defies belief,” he half laughs, half cries. Then, unable to hold himself back, he kisses me once more. Forget about cloud nine, I’m on cloud nine-hundred. “Is this what everyone feels like when they’re really in love?” I whisper to him. “This wild euphoria?” I’m not used to feeling like this; my life before Logan was numb.
His lips brush softly against mine. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I tried to explain it to Buddy. We spent our entire business meeting last Monday talking about you,” he smiles.
“So, he knows?”
Logan nods. “He’s my best man, though I realise how backwards it is to ask him before asking you.”
I laugh, and more tears fall. “You’ve known him longer,” I allow. “A lot, lot, lot longer.”
Logan looks at me adoringly. “It’s fast,” he concedes. “But I don’t want to wait,” he says, his voice suddenly quiet as his emotions overpower him once more.
“I don’t want to wait either, Logan,” I tell him wholeheartedly. “Besides, you’ve waited long enough.”
“I thought you’d say that,” he whispers as new tears roll down his face. “And I knew you’d happy-cry, I just didn’t think that I would. This is new for me.”
“I like it when you happy-cry,” I steal his line.
“Good, because I’m over the fucking moon, and it’s all because of you, Gemima,” he says, slipping his hand behind my head and kissing me headily.
I was asleep a few minutes ago, I muse. Now I’m engaged and feel like I’ll never be able to sleep again. My body and mind feels so awake, so enlivened, and I know it’s not just me who feels like that. Logan keeps kissing me with more passion and eagerness, and his hands glide down my back and under the hem on my nightie. He holds me like he did a moment ago, but now we’re skin on skin. Much better, I think.
Minutes pass like seconds as we make out, but I want to be entirely naked with him, as naked physically as I am emotionally. I want to commemorate this moment the way it deserves to be.
“Logan, make love to me,” I breathe, no longer crying. I want to let our bodies do the celebrating and use up the sudden influx of energy and adrenalin that’s flooded us both.
He’s as fervent as I am to honour this moment. He opens his robe, revealing his naked body and waiting erection, I stand quickly to pull my nightie off and step out of my underwear before settling on his lap once more. Then he does exactly as I ask, taking himself in hand and placing himself at my entrance. My body shakes as he enters me with only his tip, just breaching me, like earlier today. However, unlike earlier, he stays here, his widest part against my tightest.
Ah!
We’re still for a moment, Logan leaning back against the headboard, me leaning back, resting on my hands. It’s an entirely new sensation to spend an elongated amount of time united like this. My eyes, like Logan’s, are glued to my opening, where the sight of my sex wetting his and willing him to enter further, has me suddenly panting, even without any big movements from either of us. It’s the natural, involuntary twitches of our bodies that create such heightened arousal and excitement. It feels amazing, and the more I look at the erotic sight, the more my body responds.
“Fuck,” Logan mewls in pleasure, “I can feel you gripping me.”
He’s right, I am, though it feels entirely out of my control. Down below I’m so ready, so zealous to take him all the way into me. After one more delicious minute spent as we are, I slide onto him fully with a long, satisfied moan, and a frisson of pleasure moving through my body. He feels phenomenal and every infinitesimal pulse of him turns me on even more.
He stays permanently buried deep inside of me, and I start to grind my hips in small circles around him, creating a friction that we’ve never played with before. Logan’s hands run up and down my legs as I work against him. We gaze at each other across the open space, our mouths open, both mesmerised. Forever, I think, moving my hips faster and faster. We’ll have forever to play and explore and make love like this, and that notion is enough to make me wild with desire.
Pushing myself forward, I flatten my body against Logan’s, needing to be close to those delectable lips. I kiss him fiercely, moaning into his mouth, while down below I start to pulse up and down on him. Holy shit! I’m close, incredibly, gratifyingly close.
“Logan,” I whimper. Oh! Ah!
Reading me perfectly and knowing exactly what I want, Logan sits forward as well, he puts his arms around me, his forearms lying from my waist to the middle of back, allowing me to arch backwards, feeling entirely supported as I call out, on the verge. He holds me like this, in total service to me, until I come around him a few glorious moments later. The sensation of me gripping him inside, pushes him over the edge too. He buries his face into my chest, his body shaking as he orgasms, his voice muffled and sexy as hell.
“I would love to record the sound of you coming and use it as my ringtone,” I muse breathlessly.
Logan chuckles and I can feel his heart beating overtime. He starts kissing my breasts, and murmurs against them, “Then you’d never pick up.”
“That’s true,” I laugh, tangling my hands in his hair and letting out a long sigh. That was incredible.
“I’m never going to tire of doing this with you,” he says, his breathing laboured as he looks up at me. “From the first time I felt and watched you orgasm to right now…it always seems too good to be true. The way you let go, receive me, feel me, respond to me, it’s the best feeling in the world.”
“I agree, Funny Valentine,” I say, referencing the Friday night in a dimly lit gymnasium when I first felt his sensual touch. I lean forward to smile against his lips. Jeez, I wanted him so badly that night.
He smiles back and when I rest my head on his shoulder, his lips shower my exposed neck with kisses, and his hands caress my naked back. “Before seeing you that night I’d been swimming for two hours straight to try and get you off my mind. It didn’t work at all,” he laughs. “And I went to the gymnasium because slack-lining was the only thing that I could think of that would make me focus on something else.”
I laugh too as I think, that certainly didn’t happen!
Logan says into my shoulder, “Low and behold, there you were, sitting outside, and it felt as though I wasn’t meant to get you off my mind. And now I never will.”
I relish his words, and try my best to snuggle even closer to him, a hard feat given that he’s still buried inside of me and he couldn’t be holding me with more ardour if he tried. It’s astounding how quickly things can develop and change and grow. I marvel at the memory of that night. I marvel that that drunken girl in that little black dress, who was quietly but passionately infatuated with the man in the gymnasium, is now engaged to him.
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him to me, not saying a word, but just feeling him, breathing in time with him, and trying to come to terms with the most amazing experience of my life so far.
I then start laughing to myself as the prospect of sharing this experience with others enters my mind. Before meeting Logan I would accuse a couple of being deranged if they decided to get married after being together for three months, let alone three weeks! How little I knew.
“People will say we’re mad,” I tell Logan with a smile. Maybe we are, I think. Or maybe we’re brave. It suddenly occurs to me how completely honest we’ve been about our feelings right from the very start. Completely open to the possibility of love, but in being so we were also vulnerable to the potential of heartbreak. It was a gamble, and it just paid off. Big time. Maybe the game was fixed, I wonder. Maybe this level of happiness is the only true option there is when there’s no red tape, no bullshit, no drama woven into the fabric of our relationship. Or maybe madness and bravery are one and the same.
In his signature, sexy, self-assured manner, Logan tells me, “I’m not concerned about what people will say. I’m only interested in what you say.”
“I believe I said yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I rattle off the word very quickly and enjoy the way that Logan’s face lights up when I do. “And just so you know, baby, I have no plans to defend the decision we just made. I won’t defend something that feels so incredibly right, no matter what anyone may say. To defend it would belittle it,” I say and Logan nods in agreement. “And anyway, in time our relationship will speak for itself.”
“And time will prove that we’re not just getting married because you’re pregnant,” he grins. His eyes then scan my face, looking entirely besotted, and speaking his thoughts out loud, he reveals, “I can’t believe you said yes.”
“You thought I’d say no?”
He shakes his head, explaining, “No, I thought you’d say yes, I knew you’d say yes, but,” he shrugs, “when you’ve wanted something for so long and you finally get it, it’s…”
“A gigantic let down?” I giggle.
“No, baby,” he laughs. “It’s surreal,” he says meaningfully, and it seems that he too needs time to let this sink in. “Besides, I wasn’t prepared to ask you tonight, I had everything organised for Sunday,” he tells me.
“Why Sunday?” I ask.
“That’s when your ring is being delivered.”
My ring? Oh, yes, you get one of those at a time like this, I remind myself, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I shake my head. “I just want you, Logan,” I tell him honestly.
“You have me, Gemima, because you said yes,” he says sincerely. “Yes to the lunch date, to slack-lining, to marrying me…”
“Perhaps, or perhaps you are infinitely more powerful than you realise,” I grin, putting the onus onto him.
“How?” he laughs again.
“You know what they say, baby – be careful what you wish for because you might just get it.”
“Oh, really?” he smiles alluring.
I nod, half amused, half seduced. His next sentence sways me more towards the latter.
“In that case, I’d really like another shot at what we just did,” he says, his eyes darting downwards to where we’re still joined.
It’s my turn to say, “Oh, really? You weren’t totally satisfied the with your first shot?”
“I was immensely satisfied,” he informs me. “But, I’m greedy for you. You really ought to comprehend that before you marry me,” he impresses, making me laugh. “I’m greedy to hear that high pitch in your voice, to feel your hands all over my body looking for something to hold onto, and to see your eyes rolling back in rapture as you tighten around me…”
Oh, Logan!
My heart begins to race, and I can’t decide if it’s conceited of me or not, but I love it when he describes me with such erotic detail. He looks like there’s even more he wants to say, but I silence him with a heady kiss. It’s time to show him for the second time tonight that wishes really do come true.
* * *
I am buoyant as I ascend the steps out of the metro station on Friday morning. Logan’s unavoidable eight AM meeting means that playing hookey is not an option today, and after deciding not to stay home to indulge in solo celebrations, I set out early for Amber’s house. As I walk the one block from the station, my legs march furiously, trying to get me to her as fast as humanly possible, and yet I feel like they’re not even attached to me. I feel like I’m gliding, not quite in my body, not yet believing that my life is real and not fiction. Life has never been as sweet as it is this morning, I think, turning off of the sidewalk at Amber’s townhouse and walking up the wide garden path.
It occurs to me that I might be in shock. A good shock, the best shock that it’s possible to be in. I can’t fathom how I’m going to tell her without squealing, nor how I’m supposed to sit at a desk all day, when all I want to do is celebrate.
Four weeks ago the most exciting relationship in my life was the budding mentor-apprentice relationship between Amélie and I. That notion is laughable now. Logan has come hurtling into my life, creating such motion and change that I feel like I’m whirling around a giant washing machine. Though, as I climb the front steps, I think perhaps life before Logan was the washing machine, and he is the iron – straightening my life out, making everything beautiful. Yes, that sounds more fitting.
My analogy serves as a vague reminder that I have an ample pile of washing to attend to tonight, and as I shake the unwanted reminder out of my head, I bring myself back to the present and reach my hand out to press the doorbell. I don’t get there in time.
The door opens and Amber says with a mouthful of cereal, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I laugh loudly at her greeting. Only she would say something like that to someone she loves.
“I’m serious, Gem, either something is really wrong, or something is really right…”
“Well, I’m smiling, so obviously nothing is wrong,” I beam at her.
Her eyes widen dramatically. “Do I need to sit down for what you’re about to tell me?” she asks.
Seamus appears behind her. “Please forgive my incurably rude wife, and come inside,” he smiles, opening the door wide.
A minute later we’re seated around their kitchen table. They sit opposite me, side-by-side impatiently waiting to hear why I’ve made this impromptu house call. The way they look at me takes me back to a few weeks ago when they questioned me over breakfast about Logan’s and my slack lining date. It’s inconceivable how much has changed since then.
Enjoying their expressions, I decide to keep them in suspense just a little longer. I delve my hand into my handbag to retrieve their present. I pull it out, and slide it across the table to them. “This is for you,” I say.
Amber tears it out of the packaging at an alarmingly fast rate, and I then briefly explain its purpose.
“We’ll be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat at home?”
“I hope so,” I say, that being my intention.
They smile at each other and then at me, seeming to love the gesture.
“Though unless you’re very flexible, you may not be able to bend enough to use it,” I add to Amber.
“I’m very bendy, thank you very much,” she winks. “You should have seen the position that I was in on the night I suspect we conceived he-she.”
Firstly, that’s TMI, I think. And secondly, he-she?
Seamus exclaims, “Stop calling our baby that!”
She shakes her head at him, their squabble making me grin. I then dive my hand into my handbag once more to pull out the photographs of our impending puppy.
“The next thing I have to tell you,” I say, putting the photos facedown on the table and dramatically sliding them across to Seamus and Amber, “is that Logan and I will kind of, sort of beat you to parenthood.”
Amber gasps, her grabby hands reaching for the photos. “Is it a sonogram?” she exclaims, ever hopeful.
“No,” I laugh, finally letting the pictures go so that she can look at them.
“Oh my god!” Amber squeals, just like me.
“That is ridiculously cute,” Seamus says, looking over Amber’s shoulder as she hastily flicks through the images.
“So cute!” Amber effuses.
“It’s a he, and I think we’ll be getting him in a few weeks,” I tell them, smiling eagerly. “Mercy, Logan’s housekeeper, got him for Logan’s birthday.”
“When was his birthday?” Seamus asks.
“Yesterday,” I say.
“How old is he?” Amber pries.
“Thirty-five,” I tell her.
“That old?” she asks with wide eyes.
I roll my eyes.
“Eight years is a lot, Gem,” she tells me.
“It’s only seven and a half, and I can handle an older man,” I grin.
“I bet you can,” she laughs. Her attention is stolen once more by the puppy pictures. “Ooh, I want one,” Amber says immediately, looking at her husband imploringly.
He shakes his head. “Baby first,” he says, “then a dog.”
“My puppy and your he-she can be friends,” I tell Amber, almost giving her what she asked me for on Monday, and she smiles back, nodding vehemently.
“Don’t you start calling the baby that too, please!” Seamus says, making me laugh.
“It’s cute,” Amber tries to convince him.
“No, it sounds like a hermaphrodite, which I highly doubt our baby will turn out to be.”
“Well, I think it’s cute,” she continues, “and darling,” she claps her hand onto Seamus’s leg, “you only have to put up with it for another eight months.”
“You’re not finding out the sex of the baby?” I ask, shocked. I was sure they’d want to know, but both of them shake their heads.“That’s very restrained of you to wait until the birth. Do you mind if I find out?” I ask cheekily, trying my luck.
“Are you going to find out what you’re having?” she asks me. “I assume that’s why you’ve come to see us this morning.”
I grin at her presumptuous nature. She certainly doesn’t give up easily. “I’m not pregnant, Amber. I confess I hoped the puppy would appease you,” I say.
“The puppy is an excellent start, but I know you, Gem, and you didn’t come over to tell me about a dog.”
“No,” I agree, then I blurt out, “I came over to tell you that Logan proposed last night.”
I realise too late that I should have had a camera on Amber to film her reaction. She screams, then claps her hands to her mouth looking at me with huge eyes, before slowly lowering her hands, allowing me to see her trembling bottom lip. She’s managed to capture a huge range of emotions within the space of only five seconds!
I laugh heartily, abruptly feeling grateful not only to have such joyous news to share, but also to have such wonderful friends to share it with.
“Don’t jump the gun, Amber,” Seamus tells her, levelheadedly. “First we need to know: did you say yes?” he asks me.
Before I can respond, Amber shrieks, “Of course she said yes!”
But Seamus waits for my confirmation. It’s with huge satisfaction that I nod, “I said yes.” Over and over again, I recall happily.
Seamus cheers loudly and stands to give me a congratulatory hug. I get to my feet to embrace him and as soon as we break apart Amber is on me, hugging me more tightly than she’s ever done before.
“I’m so happy for you, Gem,” she cries, her body shaking.
“Will you be my maid of honour?” I say quickly, asking her to perform the role that I performed at her wedding.
“Yes! Oh my god, yes,” she says, squeezing me.
Over her shoulder, I grin at Seamus. “You can be a bridesmaid if you want,” I offer him giddily.
“Hmm, let me think about that,” he says sarcastically, making me laugh, as he starts brewing us coffee. “Thanks, but no thanks, Gem. But I do second her notion – I’m very happy for you both as well. Even if it is incredibly soon,” he adds.
Amber gives him a scolding look.
“I know it’s fast,” I nod, unaffected by his comment. I then shrug, saying to Seamus, “I love him, he loves me. Why wait?”
“I think it’s a fabulous idea,” Amber tells me, and I know that at least half of her reasoning is due to the amount of shopping we’ll be doing in the coming months.
“It is a great idea,” Seamus agrees, “but it’ll still be a great idea in six months time.”
“What are you, her mom?” Amber asks her husband. “Oh my god, have you told your mom yet? She’s going to hit the roof!”
No, she’s not, I coo to myself. “Not yet. You and Logan’s best friend are the only ones to know for now,” I tell them pointedly, and they both nod their understanding. “And Seamus, I understand your concern, I just…”
“Don’t agree with it?” Amber pipes up, grinning.
I shake my head. “It’s not that. We could wait six months, or longer, I just really don’t want to. My impatience would win out, I know it would,” I laugh. “I want to be Logan’s wife as soon as I possibly can,” I say, unable to keep the enormous smile from my face as I say the words Logan’s wife.
Amber squeals again, looking as ecstatic as I feel.
Laughing at the pair of us, Seamus concedes, “It couldn’t be more obvious that this is what to you want.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “No more questions from me,” he promises. “Congrats, Gem,” he smiles, handing me my coffee. “Logan is a really great guy, and I’m sure you’ll be happy together.”
“So happy,” Amber beams.
“He, uh, asked me after I did our dance for him,” I confess to Amber. “You know, the dance?”
“You’re shitting me?”
“Nope,” I giggle.
“What dance?” Seamus asks.
“Our dance to The Best by Tina Turner,” Amber reminds him.
He cracks up, evidently having seen it too. “Logan proposed after seeing that? I nearly divorced Amber when I saw it,” he jokes.
“It’s awesome!” she and I wail together, making him laugh.
I stay for a further ten minutes, enjoying a delicious cup of coffee, over which Amber tries to convince Seamus of the merit of our dance, and then it’s time to leave. Work beckons. Or perhaps calling it sitting-at-my-cubicle-and-thinking-about-Logan-all-day would be a more accurate description of what lies ahead for me.
Gathered around the doorway once more, I ask Amber and Seamus, “Are you free tomorrow night?”
Amber shakes her head. “We’re going on a double date with Patrick and Layla,” she informs me.
Oh! “That sounds fun.”
“I would’ve asked you and your fiancé to join us,” she grins excitedly, “but I thought you had Logan’s business thingy on?”
“I do, and he said this morning that I should invite you too.”
“Damn, that would’ve been swanky,” she says, amusing me. “We definitely have to celebrate soon,” she tells me. “I’ll be good to drink again in approximately thirty-six weeks.”
“Longer with the breastfeeding,” Seamus reminds her.
“Oh, yeah…” she says, calculating a new length.
I love hearing them talk like this. I love that it’s their new normal. It’s something they’ve both wanted for years, and to be able to watch their entire journey from their very first dates to their first child, is just so cool!
“I love our little he-she already, but my social life is going to take a massive hit,” she says, as if this is only becoming apparent to her now.
Seamus rolls his eyes at her use of he-she. “This is what you’re in for when you get married,” he tells me. “Being simultaneously in love and irritated at all times.”
Amber grins at him. “Yeah,” she agrees, teasing, “you’ll soon seep into the aftermath of the honeymoon phase.”
“No romance,” Seamus says.
“No sex,” Amber adds.
“Oh, really? It’s all downhill from here?” I ask sarcastically.
They nod, smiling.
“And yet, you’re pregnant, so there must be some sex,” I point out. “And based on your earlier over-sharing about how your baby was conceived, you’re still into some interesting positions,” I laugh. So, it can’t be that bad.
“Ooh,” Amber shrieks, “you know what you should do tomorrow night?” Knowing her the way I do, I’m reluctant to even ask. “It’ll definitely spice things up.”
“We don’t need spice,” I laugh even more.
She ignores me and presses on, “You should take your panties off and stash them in Logan’s tuxedo pocket and then watch him mingle knowing that at any moment he could find them.”
Seamus bursts into laughter.
“It’ll be sexy,” she nods, insistently, and it’s clear to me that she’s completely serious. That, to Amber, actually sounds like a good idea.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, as I walk back down the garden path.
She grins at me, knowing what I really mean is: over my dead body!
* * *
Just as I suspected I would, I spend the entire morning in a happy stupor, making work borderline impossible. My progress through my allotted schedule is slow, at best, and as I type on my keyboard I keep staring at my ring finger, marvelling that soon – Sunday, according to Logan – I will have a ring on it, a symbol of the choice that we both made last night. I feel like I might be floating at the mere thought of it.
At lunchtime I go for a long, grounding walk, and after a couple of blocks I feel like I might just be getting a grip on myself until Logan calls me, and my happy daze is reinstated. We talk for twenty minutes, about nothing in particular, before I have to get back to work. If this morning has taught me anything, it’s that I have to find a way to operate more effectively amongst my hyper excitement. But that seems like an insurmountable feat, so as I approach Pierson House at the end of my lunch hour, I instead soothe myself by telling myself that I’ve only got a few hours until the weekend, and two deliciously Logan-filled days. Somewhere over the weekend I can figure out how to manage my thoughts better.
With this in mind, I’m able to maintain a slightly more focussed attention point, and I revel in how fast the time flies. Usually on a Friday afternoon, it slows to an unreasonably slow pace, but today is one of those rare gems. Even time, it seems, wants Logan and I to be together.
At five-thirty I leave in an excellent mood, stopping at reception to wish Layla a pleasant weekend.
“I hear you’re having dinner with Patrick’s brother,” I say.
“Oui, son frère et sa belle soeur, la femme qui parle beaucoup,” she says, making me laugh. Yes, his brother and sister-in-law, the woman who talks a lot.
That’s Amber, I think affectionately. “Passez une bonne soirée,” I wave. Have a nice evening.
“Vous aussi,” she smiles. You too. “Bonsoir, au revoir, Gemima.”
As soon as I step outside I pull out my phone and call my mom’s salon, intending to remind her of our imminent arrival. She’s tends to show her scatterbrain nature off on a regular basis, and I don’t want tonight to be one of those times. Lucie answers and manages to both assure me – by telling me that my mom is expecting us – and alarm me – by confessing that several members of staff are staying late, just to get a glimpse of my new beau.
