I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him to me, not saying a word, but just feeling him, breathing in time with him, and trying to come to terms with the most amazing experience of my life so far.

I then start laughing to myself as the prospect of sharing this experience with others enters my mind. Before meeting Logan I would accuse a couple of being deranged if they decided to get married after being together for three months, let alone three weeks! How little I knew.

“People will say we’re mad,” I tell Logan with a smile. Maybe we are, I think. Or maybe we’re brave. It suddenly occurs to me how completely honest we’ve been about our feelings right from the very start. Completely open to the possibility of love, but in being so we were also vulnerable to the potential of heartbreak. It was a gamble, and it just paid off. Big time. Maybe the game was fixed, I wonder. Maybe this level of happiness is the only true option there is when there’s no red tape, no bullshit, no drama woven into the fabric of our relationship. Or maybe madness and bravery are one and the same.

In his signature, sexy, self-assured manner, Logan tells me, “I’m not concerned about what people will say. I’m only interested in what you say.”

“I believe I said yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I rattle off the word very quickly and enjoy the way that Logan’s face lights up when I do. “And just so you know, baby, I have no plans to defend the decision we just made. I won’t defend something that feels so incredibly right, no matter what anyone may say. To defend it would belittle it,” I say and Logan nods in agreement. “And anyway, in time our relationship will speak for itself.”

“And time will prove that we’re not just getting married because you’re pregnant,” he grins. His eyes then scan my face, looking entirely besotted, and speaking his thoughts out loud, he reveals, “I can’t believe you said yes.”

“You thought I’d say no?”

He shakes his head, explaining, “No, I thought you’d say yes, I knew you’d say yes, but,” he shrugs, “when you’ve wanted something for so long and you finally get it, it’s…”

“A gigantic let down?” I giggle.

“No, baby,” he laughs. “It’s surreal,” he says meaningfully, and it seems that he too needs time to let this sink in. “Besides, I wasn’t prepared to ask you tonight, I had everything organised for Sunday,” he tells me.

“Why Sunday?” I ask.

“That’s when your ring is being delivered.”

My ring? Oh, yes, you get one of those at a time like this, I remind myself, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind. I shake my head. “I just want you, Logan,” I tell him honestly.

“You have me, Gemima, because you said yes,” he says sincerely. “Yes to the lunch date, to slack-lining, to marrying me…”

“Perhaps, or perhaps you are infinitely more powerful than you realise,” I grin, putting the onus onto him.

“How?” he laughs again.

“You know what they say, baby — be careful what you wish for because you might just get it.”

“Oh, really?” he smiles alluring.

I nod, half amused, half seduced. His next sentence sways me more towards the latter.

“In that case, I’d really like another shot at what we just did,” he says, his eyes darting downwards to where we’re still joined.

It’s my turn to say, “Oh, really? You weren’t totally satisfied the with your first shot?”

“I was immensely satisfied,” he informs me. “But, I’m greedy for you. You really ought to comprehend that before you marry me,” he impresses, making me laugh. “I’m greedy to hear that high pitch in your voice, to feel your hands all over my body looking for something to hold onto, and to see your eyes rolling back in rapture as you tighten around me…”

Oh, Logan!

My heart begins to race, and I can’t decide if it’s conceited of me or not, but I love it when he describes me with such erotic detail. He looks like there’s even more he wants to say, but I silence him with a heady kiss. It’s time to show him for the second time tonight that wishes really do come true.

* * *

I am buoyant as I ascend the steps out of the metro station on Friday morning. Logan’s unavoidable eight AM meeting means that playing hookey is not an option today, and after deciding not to stay home to indulge in solo celebrations, I set out early for Amber’s house. As I walk the one block from the station, my legs march furiously, trying to get me to her as fast as humanly possible, and yet I feel like they’re not even attached to me. I feel like I’m gliding, not quite in my body, not yet believing that my life is real and not fiction. Life has never been as sweet as it is this morning, I think, turning off of the sidewalk at Amber’s townhouse and walking up the wide garden path.

It occurs to me that I might be in shock. A good shock, the best shock that it’s possible to be in. I can’t fathom how I’m going to tell her without squealing, nor how I’m supposed to sit at a desk all day, when all I want to do is celebrate.

Four weeks ago the most exciting relationship in my life was the budding mentor-apprentice relationship between Amélie and I. That notion is laughable now. Logan has come hurtling into my life, creating such motion and change that I feel like I’m whirling around a giant washing machine. Though, as I climb the front steps, I think perhaps life before Logan was the washing machine, and he is the iron — straightening my life out, making everything beautiful. Yes, that sounds more fitting.

My analogy serves as a vague reminder that I have an ample pile of washing to attend to tonight, and as I shake the unwanted reminder out of my head, I bring myself back to the present and reach my hand out to press the doorbell. I don’t get there in time.

The door opens and Amber says with a mouthful of cereal, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I laugh loudly at her greeting. Only she would say something like that to someone she loves.

“I’m serious, Gem, either something is really wrong, or something is really right…”

“Well, I’m smiling, so obviously nothing is wrong,” I beam at her.

Her eyes widen dramatically. “Do I need to sit down for what you’re about to tell me?” she asks.

Seamus appears behind her. “Please forgive my incurably rude wife, and come inside,” he smiles, opening the door wide.

A minute later we’re seated around their kitchen table. They sit opposite me, side-by-side impatiently waiting to hear why I’ve made this impromptu house call. The way they look at me takes me back to a few weeks ago when they questioned me over breakfast about Logan’s and my slack lining date. It’s inconceivable how much has changed since then.

Enjoying their expressions, I decide to keep them in suspense just a little longer. I delve my hand into my handbag to retrieve their present. I pull it out, and slide it across the table to them. “This is for you,” I say.

Amber tears it out of the packaging at an alarmingly fast rate, and I then briefly explain its purpose.

“We’ll be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat at home?”

“I hope so,” I say, that being my intention.

They smile at each other and then at me, seeming to love the gesture.

“Though unless you’re very flexible, you may not be able to bend enough to use it,” I add to Amber.

“I’m very bendy, thank you very much,” she winks. “You should have seen the position that I was in on the night I suspect we conceived he-she.”

Firstly, that’s TMI, I think. And secondly, he-she?

Seamus exclaims, “Stop calling our baby that!”

She shakes her head at him, their squabble making me grin. I then dive my hand into my handbag once more to pull out the photographs of our impending puppy.