“Buddy,” I explain. “He also told me that you lost that job last week because you were busy cavorting with me,” I grin.

“He’s teasing you,” Logan laughs.

“He better be, because I don’t plan to stop cavorting with you, like, ever,” I reveal.

“Glad to hear it, baby,” Logan smiles back at me.

“When you go and see him tonight, I need you to drop me off at a store on the way,” I request. “I’ve a few things to pick up.”

“Alright,” he nods. “How will you get home?”

“I’ll walk, it’s only a couple of blocks from here,” I tell him.

“You’ll walk alone?” he asks, unsure.

“I’m almost certain I’ll make it, but if I don’t, I love you,” I toy with him.

“Hmm,” he grumbles. “I don’t know about—”

“It’s happening, deal with it,” I tell him with a laugh.

He smiles at my attitude. “What else will you do tonight?”

“I should probably check in on my other boyfriend,” I toy with him some more and he chuckles. “But, I’ll most likely end up sitting right here,” I gesture to the dining table, “sketching.”

“Sketching?” Logan asks.

I nod. “Sometimes after work I would just sit and sketch gardens. Before you, it’s what I used to do for fun. How sad is that?” I say, sardonically.

“At least you had fun. I would go from my work office to my home office and just keep on working.”

I smile, leaning over to kiss him. He cups my face with his hands, spurring my passion for him onwards. Our food grows cold while we make out. No loss there, I think. Logan tastes more delicious by far.

* * *

A short while later he drops me off on his way to Buddy’s at a huge all-purpose store a couple of blocks from my house. He quizzes me about what exactly I’m buying, but my lips remain sealed.

I browse the birthday aisle leisurely, picking out a stylish navy paper to wrap his photograph and padlock in…and his birthday boy badge — the newest addition to his presents, which I find next to the wrapping paper. He can wear it to work on Thursday, I think giddily. A few paces further I stumble across an assortment of bows and my mind starts racing with possibilities. I can so use these. I pick out four, two smaller ones intended for my nipples, one medium sized one intended for my downstairs, and one huge one to stick on the French doors that lead out to Logan’s roof terrace, where his main present will be concealed. Perfect!

Moving further down the aisle, I find it impossible to pick out a suitable card for him, reading through at least ten different choices, all of which garner groans from me. Where are the you’re-the-best-thing-that’s-ever-happened-to-me-and-I’ll-love-you-forever-and-always cards?

Suddenly Buddy’s drawing from this morning floats into my mind and quite abruptly I decide to put my talent of drawing to another, more carnal task. Yes, I think, a smile spreading across my face. My mind made up, I pick a tolerable card from the shelves, deciding that this one will be for public display, and the one that I’ll draw will be for Logan’s eyes only.

My basket then packed with all the things I need, I wander into the depths of the store, in search of one last, longed-for item. I lose myself somewhere in the hardware section, wandering up and down several aisles until I find a small area of shelving which is dedicated to little, numbered plaques, the likes of which are stuck onto letter boxes…or the corner of cafe tables. Finding a small, circular one with the number forty-nine on it, I head for the cashier brainstorming where I can place it, though I currently draw a blank.

I walk home in the brisk night air, stopping at a twenty-four hour deli to pick up some bread and milk for the morning, before becoming distracted by a bright and colourful candy store that is full of happy, high-on-sugar customers a few doors down. It’s new to the neighbourhood, even newer than I am, and looks very inviting, tempting me to the max. I resist, deciding that I’ll come back tomorrow with Logan. After hearing his revelation over the weekend about candy stores being his one shopping weakness, I’m curious to see it in action.

After checking the stores closing hours, I continue walking home, and as I stand on the front porch of my house, I hear shouting coming from my neighbours across the way. Again. It’s the same couple that Logan and I saw arguing two weeks ago. Through the windows into their living room I can see arms gesticulating madly in time with loud, incomprehensible yelling. I pause momentarily, wondering if I should do something, before deciding that it’s really not my place. Good luck to them, I think, stepping into my home and closing the door on their row.

Before I get to do the fun, birthday-related things, I have to do the responsible, grownup things. My plants haven’t had water for nearly a week, so they’re my first port of call. Then I empty the fridge of everything that’s too old to eat, I put clean sheets on my bed, and I do a quick dust and vacuum of the whole cottage.

An hour later, my chores done, I excitedly gather everything I need together, placing my bag of shopping, along with Logan’s presents and few blank sheets of paper and some pens, onto the dining room table, and I then head into the living room to turn on the television. I navigate my way to the music channels, settling for the Chillout Lounge, of course. Humming along to a familiar song, I embark on my gift wrapping and card creating. Picking one of the most memorable times that Logan and I have had sex, I draw on his birthday card a very detailed, very accurate depiction of me standing flush against the glass window in his bedroom, with Logan standing behind me. I take a lot of care to draw our faces so that they convey the amount of pleasure we felt at the time, and I find myself becoming aroused as I think about that morning repeatedly, capturing it on paper.

When I’m satisfied with its level of eroticism, it’s then time to write the insides of both cards. The sexy one is easy, as I write simply, our imminent activity, hoping his birthday will start, quite literally, with a bang. However his other card, the one for public display, takes me longer to pen. There are so many things I want to say to him and so I just start writing, putting down in words all of my reasons for adoring him, all the ways that he’s made my life better, all the ways he’s helped me to grow.

Logan, there are just a few things I want you to know…

In a way, without saying a word, we have dared each other, and pushed each other to open up more, to trust more, to fall more in love, and we keep achieving new heights. This is completely new to me.

With you, love feels real. Like, REALLY real. I’ve never felt so loved and respected and appreciated as you make me feel, and you make me feel like that constantly, just for being me. That’s new as well.

You’ve made my everyday sweeter and brighter, and brief though our relationship has been, I cannot imagine living a single day of the rest of my life without you. I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of loving someone.

I wish for you the best birthday that you’ve ever had, and I hope that the next thirty-five years (and beyond) we will continue to grow side-by-side, because if there’s one thing that I know with absolute certainty, it’s that we’re better together.

I’ll love you forever. Thank you for being YOU.

All my love, Gemima.

It’s in this immensely thankful and loved-up mood that I crawl into my fresh, newly-made bed. As I lie, looking up at myself in the mirrors on the ceiling, two thoughts go through my mind.

The first is about Amber and Seamus — the mirror implementers. Their heartwarming announcement makes me reach for my phone and spend the next ten minutes trawling the internet to find them a suitable pregnancy present. I buy them something called a foetus-scope, which I find a sufficiently different gift to give. They won’t be expecting something usual from me, so this is perfect.