I smile at her, warming to her more by the second. She’s clearly got a sense of humour which no doubt makes Logan’s long work hours more tolerable.

“It was your friend who called here last week, wasn’t it? American woman, erratic voice,” she says.

“Oh, yes!” I laugh. “My best friend, Amber,” I tell her. “She was trying to get in contact with Logan.”

“Yes,” Cheryl remembers. “For one wild moment I thought that she was a deranged one night stand of his,” she confesses, making me laugh even harder. “That would have been unprecedented. I was already mentally preparing a press release to avoid a scandal.”

I snort in laughter at the thought. Oh, Amber! She’ll be thrilled to know that she’s made such a strong impression.

We continue talking back and forth for five highly comical minutes before Cheryl leaves to get lunch. On exiting the square she passes Logan; they’re stationary, chatting for a few seconds, before he makes a speedy beeline for me, carrying what looks like our lunch in a takeout bag.

“Yum,” I say when he’s in earshot.

“Me, or this?” he asks, holding up the bag of fragrant food.

“Both,” I grin.

He smiles and speeds up his walk. He does it without noticing his own eagerness, but I notice it, and it thrills me. When he reaches me I’m greeted with a one-armed hug and a kiss. “Thank you for surprising me,” he grins against my lips.

“Ditto, baby,” I laugh. My hand lingering on his lower back, I run it south slightly, just breaching the top his pants, where I feel his boxers. “Just checking what you’re wearing down there,” I say. “That last message of yours had me intrigued,” I tease.

“And your last message nearly made me spit my coffee out,” he informs me, making me laugh again.

“Thanks for picking this up,” I peer into the bag, hungrily. It looks and smells like a North African cuisine, though I can’t put my finger on which one.

Whatever it is, it tastes amazing, and we eat it with gusto, sitting cross-legged at either end of the wooden bench with our lunch spread out in between us, while we swap stories about our productive mornings.

“So, I’ll have to get the proper qualifications first, but Amélie knows that I’m all in,” I inform Logan, feeling giddy about it all over again.

“That’s amazing, baby,” he gushes. “Grace did the same thing with us about seven years ago. She was an engineer at the time, and pestered Michel for a solid six months to let her switch. It’s probably one of the best moves that the company’s ever made, and I’m sure Amélie’s thinking the same thing about you,” he says kindly.

I smile back at him, and then I ask him inquisitively, “Does, uh, Leary Constructions ever hire landscape designers for work?”

“Yes,” he chuckles.

“So, this time next year we could be getting down and dirty in a flowerbed somewhere in Paris,” I giggle. Assuming, of course, that I am able to secure the jobs that Logan’s company is hiring for.

Grinning at me with a playful gleam in his eyes, Logan agrees, “That does sound like something we’d get up to.” Then he tells me, “I bumped into Amélie outside of Pierson House.”

Oh, shit! “Did she pry into whether it was you who told me about Madeleine?” I ask hurriedly.

Logan shakes his head. “She didn’t have the chance. I did all the talking,” he reveals, piquing my interest. “She agreed to give you a longer lunch break tomorrow so that I can enact my little plan,” he says intriguingly.

My curiosity soars. “And what plan might that be, Mr. Leary?”

He studies me for a moment, deciding how much to tell me, before saying, “What with my parents leaving tomorrow night, I thought it would be good to take the opportunity to host a little engagement party while they’re still here. So, we’re going to lunch,” he tells me, and a split second later a broad smile spreads across his face.

There’s more to it than that, I know immediately. “Where?” I enquire.

“Top secret. If I tell you, I’ll have to…”

“Yes?”

Logan quickly scans the square. “If I tell you, things might turn amorous,” he says dramatically.

I laugh out loud, and then say, “Where?” again, feeling nothing but encouraged by his warning.

“All will be revealed in twenty-four hours,” he lets me know with a promising smile. “I’m also taking you somewhere this evening.”

I’ve my very own man of mystery, I suddenly think. “Am I allowed to know where we’re going tonight?”

“Something’s happening at Mercy’s,” he says casually, but his attempt at nonchalance doesn’t fool me; my excitement shoots from one to ten in under a second.

“Is Samuel going to be there?” I ask, my voice suddenly quiet and expectant.

Slowly Logan nods, and I immediately bounce up and down on the bench in glee.

“Fuck, yes!” I exclaim, before getting a well needed grip on myself. “I mean, that will be wonderful,” I beam. Much more ladylike.

“Oh, baby,” Logan laughs, “I love watching your mind work.”

“Are you going to pick me up tonight, then?” I press.

He nods. “Though I might be late,” he says, “I have a two week post-surgery checkup.”

“I’m more than happy to give you a thorough physical myself,” I attempt to keep a straight face. “But if you’d prefer a doctor?”

“I’m only going for the lollypop,” Logan responds, and part of me actually believes that that could be true.

His phones message tone beeps loudly from inside his pocket, and while he pulls it out and glances at it, I hoover another few mouthfuls of our delicious lunch. Then Logan offers his phone to me.

“From Bud,” he explains.

Teasing him, I ask, “Do you two message each other everyday?”

He grins and nods in honesty. Giggling, I then peer down at the screen and read the message from Buddy:

*Something to keep you occupied while you wait for your sex swing. If you think you’re up for the challenge.*

At the bottom there’s an internet website address linked. I click on it and squint my eyes, preparing to snap them shut if the link takes me to something distasteful, but almost surprisingly, it doesn’t. I find myself on a page of a prominent French Men’s Health magazine, and it seems to me that Buddy is spending his lunch break reading. The article in question is entitled How To Give Her A Full Body Orgasm. Now there’s an attention grabbing title, I think appreciatively.

“You look entranced,” Logan notices.

I quickly show him the engaging name before possessively pulling his phone to my chest, where I peer down and read it attentively. It begins:

A full body orgasm, otherwise known as a cervical orgasm, is one of the most sacred, intimate, and pleasurable experiences that a couple can encounter. Men, this is not just one for the ladies. It may be her body that you’re stimulating, but if you can get her there, she’ll take you along for one hell of a ride!

My eyes grow wide. I rapidly scan down the article until I reach the How To part of it, where the article’s author suggests deep penetration of the vagina — so far, so good, I think slyly — and stimulation of the tip of the cervix — my eyes widen even further — prompting the woman to orgasm intensely, and causing an afterglow that lasts for hours.

I move further down the article, stopping at a section called For Best Results, where the first line simultaneously makes me laugh out loud and doubt everything that I’ve just read. Surely this is too good to be true, I think, as I read:

For Best Results…

1. Ensure your partner has had at least two orgasms before even attempting this. She needs to feel completely relaxed, at peace, and in total trust with you.

“I bet this was written by a woman,” I laugh. I scroll up to check the byline. Yep, this is a woman’s work. There’s a picture of her next to her name. She looks sane enough to me, I think. I scroll back down once more, finding the section called Personal Experience, and I read through the woman’s firsthand account of this particular practise. Jeez, she makes it sound like nirvana, a nirvana that sounds very familiar to me…