“There’s always tomorrow,” he grins.

I shake my head. “You have lunch with your family tomorrow.”

“Will you join us?” he asks me.

“Baby, I don’t think I can,” I sigh. “Amélie’s condition for letting me have this afternoon off is that I write a full project report on implementing this,” I gesture the terrace around us. “She said that she wanted it handed in promptly, and usually that means the next day. I haven’t finished it yet, so tomorrow lunch will be spent working, unfortunately.”

Logan looks confused. “Why would she have you write up a report on it? I would only ever instruct someone to do that if it was relevant to the company, but the Pierson Group doesn’t do landscaping.”

I shrug. “Maybe she’s just being nosey? She probably wants to know exactly how you, the client, received the design. In that particular box of the report, I think I’ll write: client seemed pleased. As a token of his appreciation, he took me quickly on a piece of new furniture.”

Logan laughs at my faux-report, before leaning forward to kiss me again.

A few, long moments later my phone vibrates loudly, causing us both to jump. Looking at it, I see that Amber has messaged and suddenly I remember…

“Oh god! She had her first ultrasound today.” Nerves fill me. Please let the baby be OK!

“Why so tense?” Logan asks, noticing the abrupt change in me.

“It, uh, was during an ultrasound appointment last year that she was told she’d miscarried,” I tell him, and his mouth forms an oh of understanding. I hastily tap my phone, opening the message which it turns out is a video. I tap play and stare down at the black and white screen, trying to make out what I’m seeing. I vaguely wonder if she’s accidentally made this video while her phone was in her pocket, before realising that I’m looking at the ultrasound. “Can you see the baby in there?” I ask Logan, showing him the video.

He studies it for a moment. “That speck, maybe?” he suggests.

I take another look and suspect that he’s right, though I’ve no way of knowing for sure.

Another message arrives from Amber, this time saying:

*My new favourite sound!*

I turn my phone off of silent and replay the video. Immediately tears well up in my eyes, and Logan chuckles affectionately at my reaction. The air around us is filled with the sound of a tiny, flickering heartbeat — the sound of Amber’s baby. It’s strong, fast, loud, and utterly magical.

“Oh, wow!” I cry, wishing that I could be with Amber right now and share this moment with her.

“That’s very cool,” Logan nods sincerely. He looks at me adoringly, wiping away my stray tears.

“I bought her a foetus scope,” I blurt out randomly.

“A what?”

“It’s a little device that looks like a cone, and when you put it against her tummy you can hear the baby’s heartbeat through it. She and Seamus can listen everyday. I thought it might comfort her being able to hear it all the time, especially given what happened last year.” I replay the video and well up again. “I’m so happy for her,” I hiccup.

Logan’s arms tighten around me. He leans forward and kisses my cheek as I continue peering down at the video, enchanted. When the video ends for a second time, I hurried type back:

*Beautiful, enchanting, unreal. I bet you’ve watched it a million times! My new favourite sound, too, doll! Love you xx*

Then I put my phone back on the table and look at Logan.

His light-green eyes survey me softly. “You’re full to the brim of thoughtful gifts, Gemima,” he says quietly, meaningfully. I smile back at him. “I really do love it when you happy-cry, baby,” he tells me for the second time today. “It’s so sweet and endearing and adorable and heartfelt, and it’s an insight into your true nature, which is something truly beautiful.”

“That’s a lovely thing to say,” I whisper against his lips.

“It’s the tru—“ he begins, but I cut him off by kissing him ardently. He smiles into my mouth, before sitting up to kiss me better, deeper, more passionately. I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands tangling naturally into his hair, holding him tightly as our kiss grows. It both satiates me and makes me yearn for more. I am totally consumed by Logan; he is all I can comprehend.

“Shall we make a bet on how long it takes them to notice we’re here?” A familiar male voice whispers from the doorway — a voice that I heard only two days ago over the phone.

A female hushes him and I hear retreating footsteps.

Part of my brain thinks, Huh, they like bets too, while another, louder part thinks, Oh, fuck no! My hands immediately loosen their grip on Logan’s hair and start subtly trying to flattening it down instead.

Logan laughs into my mouth. “Busted,” he breathes, his sweet breath making me feel completely drunk, and his eyes glowing playfully. The sight of him looking so breathtaking calms me. Again.

“I’m not even surprised,” I laugh as well. And I’m not; I knew something like this would happen. In fact I was so sure it would that I probably attracted it to me like a magnet.

“Rupert, stop spying!” I hear Logan’s mother hiss, and I laugh again.

I clamber off of Logan’s lap as elegantly as I can, and straighten up my dress. I plump my hair and hastily grab a spoon and stare at the back of it checking my reflection, hoping that I haven’t gone red and puffy from crying. Logan stands up behind me, watching me with amusement. Regardless of Logan’s calming effect on me, my heart is hammering in my chest.

“Well, this doesn’t work at all,” I sigh, unable to make out a clear image in the back of the spoon. “I’ve seen it so many times in movies,” I tell him exasperatedly.

“You look gorgeous,” Logan tells me, giving me an alluring once-over.

You have to say that, I think. I smile at him despite myself. “You haven’t changed,” I point out. “How are you going to explain that?”

Logan grins at me. “Baby, I don’t think any explanation will be necessary,” he teases me.

I feel myself flush with heat. Deep breaths, Gemima, I tell myself. Embodying my inner-bravery, I take his hand, turn around and lead the way into the apartment. It’s go-time!

7. Inside Out

Peering through the double doors, I see Logan’s parents standing in front of the red-metal shelving unit. Mary-Gene is staring at the pictures that Logan has displayed there, while Rupert stands next to her, bopping along to the music, clearly enjoying my Springsteen selection. Thank you very much, Mercy, I think gratefully. They’re exactly how they appeared when I saw them on Skype, the only surprise being that they’re both shorter than I assumed they’d be.

“Mom, dad…” Logan begins as we walk through the doors, “…meet Gemima in the flesh,” he finishes as we come to a stop in front of them.

Much like our call last weekend, Rupert is reserved while Mary-Gene effuses enthusiasm. They both smile at the sight of Logan and I, but Mary-Gene lights up completely, clapping her hands together and mouthing, “Oh my Lord!”

I don’t know why, but I do something halfway between a bow and a curtsy, before instantly regretting it. Be cool, I chastise myself. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. George,” I say, smiling at them in anticipation. Please be nice people, I inwardly plea.

“Gemima,” Mr. George holds out his hand to me, “it’s a pleasure to properly meet you, darlin’,” he says, oozing Southern Charm. So far, so nice.

Shaking his hand, I reply, “Thank you. It’s so wonderful to meet you both too.”

“But you must call us Rupert and Mary-Gene. Please, we insist,” he urges.

“Alright,” I smile.

Mary-Gene is beaming more broadly than I think I’ve ever seen anyone do before. Her obvious delight in being here really puts me at ease — a trait she shares with Logan. “You’re even more beautiful in real life!” she exclaims, bounding forward and pulling me into a warm embrace.