I put a comforting hand over his and reach forward to lightly kiss his lips. With ardour, he takes his other hand and glides it over my cheek until his fingers are immersed in my hair, and then he holds me to him as he kisses me deeply and with an air of urgency. It’s yet another telling sign of how afraid the thought of losing me has made him. He’s back in that vulnerable, emotional state that I saw a few hours ago.

After several long, intoxicating moments, he breathes, “Are we still OK?”

“Yes,” I grin into his mouth.

“Good.”

His hand strokes my cheek once more, and in the corner of my eye I can see something written on the back of it. Taking his hand in my own, I stare at the number inked in permanent marker on Logan’s skin, recognising it at once. It’s my mobile number.

“I don’t know yours either,” Logan admits, “but I ought to. Today is proof that we can’t afford not to know each other’s numbers,” he says.

“Agreed,” I nod.

“We need to always be able to contact each other,” he adds.

“How do you feel about homing pigeons?” I ask lightly.

He cracks a smile. “I, uh, think I’ll stick with this,” he stares at my number. “It’s staying here until I’ve committed it to memory. I’d like you to do the same,” he then requests earnestly, “because I can’t ever have another day like today, Gemima. I honestly don’t think that I can take feeling that scared again,” he tells me candidly, confirming my thoughts. I move closer to him, letting him hold me, starving off his fears, and the cold that I feel. He whispers into my hair, “I’ve been to hell and back in my youth, but I know now that that wouldn’t come close to losing you.”

My heart aches uncomfortably hearing him talk like that; I don’t want his mind plagued with such thoughts, I don’t want him living in that space of fear, yet I don’t know what to say. My parents’ story sits at the forefront of my mind, until I suddenly realise that we are not them. Our future won’t repeat their history, and I have to let what happened to them go. It’s burdening my own thoughts, and dampening my usual optimistic, hopeful outlook on love. Yes, I think, letting it go is the right thing.

I look up at Logan. “You can talk about losing me in fifty years time,” I murmur against his lips, “but not before then. The meantime is our chance to live, to be happy, to enjoy every moment that we have together.”

His face lights up. “I like that plan,” he smiles, before his lips effortlessly part my own. He kisses me for a long moment, all of his fear and tension dissipating, leaving nothing but the passion and the eagerness that I’m used to from him. “You’re very wise for someone so young,” he teases me, grinning into my mouth.

I try to stop my eyes from rolling, but I cannot, they roll, making Logan chuckle.

“I love being in love with you, Gemima.”

I take his words in, letting them seep into every pore of my being. “Baby, I love being in love with you too,” I tell him, and it’s the most truthful thing that I’ve ever said.

“And you’re right, I should concentrate on the good, and let this day go,” Logan says, standing up and pulling me up too. He walks to his side of the bed and pulls back the duvet for me to crawl under once more.

A few minutes later, the entirety of his outfit on the floor, Logan joins me, lying half on me, half beside me under the covers. I relish the feeling of his silken skin on mine, I relish the sensation of one of his hands in my hair and one of them caressing my body as we kiss one another.

This is why I couldn’t get to sleep; I would’ve missed out on feeling him kiss me so deeply, a kiss so full of relief, and celebration, and honour, that I lose myself in it entirely.

If this is living, if this is happy, if this is enjoying a moment together, then Logan’s right too — I must be wise, because I’m certain that life doesn’t get any sweeter than this.

13. Everything Has Changed

On Tuesday morning, I wake up in Logan’s warm embrace, one arm lying under my neck, one tight around my stomach. His torso is flush against my back, his face buried into my mass of long hair. His mere presence means that today has already gotten off to a better start than yesterday. The feelings of happiness and security within me are enough to cause a goofy, sleepy smile to spread across my face. What a difference a day makes, I think, stretching leisurely. My instincts and insights are a world away from what they were yesterday, no unnerving thoughts plague my mind, only peace and gratitude.

Disrupting Logan as little as possible, I reach for my phone on the bedside table and spend the fifteen minutes that I’ve got before my alarm is set to go off, staring at Logan’s mobile phone number, memorising it as best as I can. When Logan’s alarm rings loudly at the same time as mine, he wakes with a start, and as he rolls away from me to hit the snooze button, I turn over, so that by the time he rolls back, we’re face to face.

“Bonjour, mon amour,” I whisper against his lips. Good morning, my love. I then immediately recite his number to him, only having to peek at my screen once for help.

“Très bien,” he smiles at my progress and I nod back, pleased with myself. Very good.

“Sommes-nous toujours ok?” I then tease with a giggle. Are we still OK?

“Mieux que jamais,” he chuckles. Better than ever. “Oh, today is going to be so much better than yesterday,” he says knowledgeably, stretching his beautiful body.

Nodding once more, I rest my hand on the side of his torso and run it all the way down his body, gliding over his smooth skin until I come to a stop on his thigh. “I loved last night, Logan,” I tell him honestly, reveling in the memory of how our kissing evolved into something more amorous. “The way you moved in me.”

He smiles again. “I loved it too, baby. You put my mind at ease like nothing and no one else can,” he says.

“Good,” I breathe, his words a perfect validation. “I’d gladly put your mind at ease a little more right now,” I grin mischievously, “but, alas, work beckons…” I sigh. Then I decide spontaneously, “I think I’m going to wear one of your shirts today.” I mentally scan his wardrobe, trying to think of an outfit for my day. “And you can wear one of mine,” I add, laughing at the thought as I give his lips a quick kiss and get out of bed, stretching entirely nude in front of him.

“Who needs coffee as a pick-me-up when I get to look at that,” he says, his eyes scanning my body appreciatively.

I give him a wink and then beckon him to follow me, desiring a little company in my morning shower.

* * *

Rather than wearing one of his shirts, I select a plain white teeshirt of Logan’s instead. With two strategic pleats folded into the back of it, it actually looks pretty good tucked into my pair of grey work pants. I’m able to hide the overly large arm holes under my favourite work jacket, which results in an outfit that no one would guess wasn’t entirely my own.

My car at my house, I take the metro to work, and as I walk from my exit stop to Pierson House, the lingering smell of Logan around me is invigorating. I’m going to kick ass today, I decide, intent on making up for my lack of productivity yesterday, and I’m going to do it whilst breathing in the scent of my delicious fiancé.

Getting ever closer to my work, I pull out my phone (which I’ve actually remembered today) and message Logan:

*This teeshirt thing was a great idea. I feel like you’re all over me ;)*

His responding text arrives as I walk into Pierson House, making me smile:

*All over you is my favourite place to be.*

He sends another text a few seconds later, which makes me laugh out loud:

*I wish I could say that wearing your g-string was also a good idea…*