It’s just over four minutes of pure choreographic gold, and as I perform every second of it with precision, I’m still convinced that a popstar somewhere would appreciate it. It’s very funky, I think, perhaps somewhat delusional. When the song ends, I strike my final pose and hold it, receiving Logan’s enthusiastic applause and cheers.

Breathing rapidly, I flop onto the sofa next to him, totally spent.

“You’re officially the coolest person in the world,” Logan announces.

I nod smugly. I can believe that.

“Oh, so that you accept but not that you’re the most beautiful?” he laughs.

“I’m getting there,” I grin.

He pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely around me. “Then I must be doing something right,” he says, looking at me like I am the very air he breathes.

I stare at him in equal adoration. “Baby, you’re doing everything right,” I let him know. “Duh,” I add, laughing, “weren’t you listening to anything I just said?”

His broad, dimple-inducing smile is back, and I drink him in as I catch my breath.

“That was…” Logan begins, but he struggles to find the words.

“Magnificent? Stirring? Dignified?” I snort.

“Quite possibly the loveliest and most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh.

“It was,” he nods, his sincerity evident. His arms tighten around me. “Gemima, you have made it an absolute joy and a privilege to be me,” he tells me meaningfully. “And not only today. You’ve made my entire life — the not-so-good moments and the terrible moments — all worth it, just to get to this exact moment, here with you.”

His words leave me stunned and speechless. Oh, Logan! Abruptly I throw my arms around him and bury my face into his neck. “I love you,” I say after a moment, my voice all muffled. “And I feel exactly the same way, Logan,” I then say, looking at him once more.

“I know,” he whispers. “There’s one more thing that I want to say to you tonight, but I have to wait until after midnight.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want it to be my birthday when I say it,” he tells me.

“It’s ages ’til midnight,” I push.

“Then sleep,” he smiles, “and I’ll wake you up.”

I don’t need telling twice. Perhaps I’m a lot less fit than I previously realised, but that standup routine-cum-dance show has left me exhausted, and that combined with the immensity of Logan’s words means that it is all too easy to melt against his chest and drift off into a peaceful slumber.

I’m only vaguely aware of Logan standing up, holding me like an oversized toddler with my head lolling on his shoulder, and the room going dark behind us as he walks us to the bedroom. I must linger somewhere between sleep and awake, because somehow I’m able to tell that Logan doesn’t sleep at all. I feel him sit on the bed, his back resting against the headboard and me unintentionally straddling him. I feel his arms moving over my back, a sweet and gentle caress, and I can feel his heart rate steadily speeding up. When he rouses me from my sleep sometime after midnight it is beating overtime, and instinctively I know the reason why. I know exactly what he wants to say to me.

“Gemima, will you look at me?” his voice soothes.

I raise my heavy head and rest my forehead against his, looking at him with sleepy eyes. “Always,” I say.

He smiles back. “Will you kiss me?”

Immediately, I press my lips to his, muttering, “With pleasure.” I kiss him again, more firmly, waking up properly.

“Will you marry me?” he asks me when we break apart.

I hear his words, but they take a second to fully register within me. Will I marry him? Will I be his wife, his partner, his best friend for the rest of our lives? My bottom lip starts to tremble, the first sign of my imminent emotional eruption. At first I nod slowly, but it quickly grows into the most ardent sign of confirmation possible.

“Yes,” I breathe. A thousand times yes.

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…”