“Surprise!”

“What?” I exclaim. “You can drive this thing?” When he quipped earlier about the skipper needing to eat, I assumed he was joking.

“I can, and I will be,” he nods, walking away from the controls, and opening a few side latches until he finds what he’s looking for. He hands me a couple of blankets. “It’s going to be cold on the open water,” he tells me.

I take them gratefully, wrapping them both around me, covering up my outfit, which is comprised of my favourite boots, my dark blue jeans, and one of Logan’s shirts.

“Are there, uh, any lifejackets? I ask tentatively, not wanting to insult his skipper skills.

He grins at me. “Of course, but you won’t need one.”

“If you say so.” I stand next to the controls and pretend to start pushing buttons and pulling leavers. “But you may need one,” I play with him.

“Can’t you keep your hands off of my goods?” he teases me right back, and I laugh out loud at his double entendre.

A few minutes later, the jetty shrinks behind us, as Logan points us out to sea. When we’re a good distance from the shore, he turns the steering wheel south. He seems proficient, though knowing so little about boating myself, I wouldn’t know if he weren’t. We’re still safely onboard after the first ten minutes, a good sign by all accounts, so after that I push any doubts to the back of my mind, reminding myself that Logan would never take me out like this if he weren’t sure of his own abilities.

He pushes the accelerator and we speed across the water. My hair is going to hate this, I think, already dreading the tangles. But aside from that drawback, the experience is incredible. It feels liberating and empowering somehow, to be out on the ocean by ourselves. The eye-catching coastline zooms past us on our right, and all around us, the water is clear and glorious, looking good enough to dive into, though I wisely avoid the temptation.

“When did you learn to do this?” I ask, opening one of my blankets and wrapping it around his middle in an attempt to share the warmth.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Logan wraps his other arm around me, saying, “Last year when I initiated the project in Marseille. I was there for two weeks at one point, and I needed something to do on the weekends. I’ve always loved the ocean, so I figured it was a good opportunity to learn. But I don’t have my license yet,” he announces, startling me. Are we acting outside of the law right now, I wonder wildly. He looks down at me and chuckles at the look of shock on my face for a second time. “I don’t need one,” he then lets me know.

Oh… “Does that mean I can drive it too?” I check, now grinning at him.

He smiles back and slowly shakes his head. He continues to gaze at me for longer than I judge to be safe.

“Eyes on the ocean, Logan,” I tell him hurriedly.

“You distracted me,” he mutters to himself, a smile still in place on his face.

“When you initiate projects outside of Paris do you often have to leave for several weeks?” I wonder.

“I always have done,” he tells me, “but things change.” His arm tightens its hold around me, and I know he’s talking about me. “The nice thing about being a boss is that I can delegate. It’ll give me the chance to stay in Paris, and someone else the chance to step up into a new role.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask. “I mean, the beginning of any project is always exciting, and if you want to be there, then, you know, you and I will make it work,” I promise him.

He looks at me lovingly. “I don’t want to spend two weeks away from you,” he says with absolute certainty.

“I don’t want to spend two weeks away from you either,” I tell him. “But I also don’t want to fuck up your company,” I add.

He laughs heartily. “You won’t. You and I come first, and then Leary Constructions. That’s non-negotiable,” he grins.

“Fine then, I guess I’ll just have to put up with you,” I sigh sarcastically. In reality, his words thrill me.

Fifteen minutes later we arrive at a much shorter, darker dock, which leads to a stairway with at least two hundred steps up a vertical cliff-face.

There had better be something good up here, I think, as my legs start to scream after step one hundred. There is something good, something amazing! Huffing and puffing at the top of the stairs, I’m in awe of the beguiling manor house that sits some five-hundred metres in front of us. Between us and it, lies a perfectly manicured garden, with neatly trimmed hedges edging the pristine pebbled pathways. The sight would be breathtaking if I weren’t already out of breath.

“We can have a look in the manor house if you like, but my main aim was to show you the gardens,” Logan tells me. “There are twenty acres in total, they’re award-winning, and apparently a must-see for botanical fans,” he says, reciting the information that he’s obviously looked up in advance. So thoughtful, Logan! “Knowing your affinity for landscape design, I hoped you’d like it too,” he says, waiting for my reaction.

I lunge at him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his. “I love it already,” I beam at him. “Thank you, Logan, this is…” Words momentarily fail me. “It’s surprising, actually, considering how brief our conversation about landscaping was.” I’m honoured that he remembered it.

“Brief, yes, but your passion was obvious, baby,” he tells me, taking ahold of my hand and leading the way.

We spend over two hours walking around at a very sedate pace. I talk Logan’s ear off, my enthusiasm bursting out of me as I encounter detail after detail that blows my mind. No wonder this place is renowned, it’s phenomenal! The more of it I see, the surer I become that my days as an interior designer are numbered. I have to follow this passion, I tell myself. Suddenly, I feel giddy about implementing Logan’s roof terrace garden in a few days time. That will be an indicator, I organise in my mind, after which I’ll decide if I’m daydreaming about this passion or not. Though, truthfully, all I’d need to do is create something half as good as this place, for me to consider myself a success.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking in another exemplary sight. It’s an eight-metre high hedge, Gem, it shouldn’t impress you this much. And yet, it does. It’s the simple things, I think, remembering Logan telling me that his passion for buildings was sparked by nothing more than being impressed by the sight of skyscrapers, and I liken my eagerness to his.

I snap a photograph on my phone; my camera is getting quite a workout this weekend.

“Why do you like it?” Logan asks curiously.

“That?” I point at the huge wall of green. “Or any of it?”

“Any of it,” he wonders. “What is it about landscaping that gets you? When did the love affair begin?”

“It began eight years ago when I moved to Paris,” I tell him. “Seeing the urban landscaping within the city, and gardens at Versailles…something ignited in me. I started reading books, and becoming nerdy,” I grin. “Did you know that the gardens in La Défense were designed by an American soldier in the nineteen-fifties?” I ask him.

“OK, you get extra nerd points for that,” Logan smiles, making me laugh.

We continue walking, hand in hand, and I divulge more. “A garden is always alive,” I say, constantly looking all around, not wanting to miss one part of the experience. “It grows and it changes and it dies, and it grows anew. There’s constant movement, even if we can’t see it with our eyes. And I think that’s why I like it so much,” I reveal. “Nature is all about life and rebirth and,” I shrug, “that seems like a nice thing to spend my life working with. Plus I like the colour green, so…” I trail off, making Logan chuckling.

“I have one thing left to show you,” he then tells me.