I would marry her. She’s not so bad, and I don’t hate her. I don’t hate her at all.

I look up at him again.

“It kind of goes on like that for another hundred pages or so,” he says. “Every once in a while there’s a rant about how much I hate the lunch ladies’ beef stroganoff or how much I wish my brother was a puppy, but for the most part, it’s all about you.”

He stops and chuckles to himself.

“And there are no disclaimers about the stroganoff or the puppy brother either,” he adds. “I wasn’t lying about those things.”

I shake my head and laugh before I catch his stare again. And in that short moment, his eyes seem to have turned serious all of a sudden.

“But there’s one more I want you to see.”

He pulls out another journal. And from what I can tell, this one isn’t so tattered. Its edges aren’t really worn, and it still has a bright-colored cover.

“Yeah, so it’s kind of addicting,” he says. “I’m still a hard-ass. Don’t be fooled.”

I give him a sarcastic look and then carefully take the journal from his hands.

“The last entry,” he says.

I fall into his soft, brown eyes then, and my heart melts a little. I really do love this boy — even more than I did a moment ago. How is it possible to love someone so much and then to love them even more? And it’s not just any love either. It’s that kind of love where you know you would do anything for him, go anywhere, even take on his pain if you could — that kind of love.

I return my attention to the journal and flip to the last page with words on it. It’s dated June 5, 2009.

My eyes quickly venture back to his.

“That’s today,” I say.

I watch him slowly nod his head before I find the words on the page again and follow over them:

I’ve known this girl Logan for nine, miserable years now. Her eyes are too green. Her smile is all wrong. I wouldn’t marry her if she were the last girl in the world. And she still can’t hit a ball.

I playfully narrow my eyes at him before I catch the tiny letters again at the bottom of the page:

I’ve known this girl Logan for nine, happy years now. Her eyes are beautiful. Her smile is perfect. I would marry her every day of my life if I could. And she can still hit a ball — better than I can.

I can feel my heart breaking into a million, little pieces as I follow over his tiny words at the bottom of the page one more time. And I think it’s those same, tiny words that remind me that he’s no longer the little boy I shared a childhood with.

“I know in my heart that you’re the one,” Andrew whispers low and near my ear.

His words are breathy and passionate. And instead of seeing his perfect, boyish grin when I look up, I catch a box. And inside the box is a ring. And above the ring are two longing eyes.

“I know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you. Please, marry me, Logan Ada Cross.”

I search his eyes for a moment, but only for a moment. That’s all the time I need.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Wednesday,” he adds, with a hopeful plea in his dark brown eyes.

I press my lips together, until I just can’t hold back a smile any longer.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Logan.”

I open my eyes to a shadowy figure hovering over me, blocking out the sun.

“You look beautiful.” Andrew leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

I smile and sit up.

“You like it,” I ask. “I have another one if you don’t like it.”

He shakes his head. “I love it.”

My stomach fills with butterflies. I’m glad he likes it. After four long days of deciding what to wear today, I came to the conclusion that this one was the one; this one was perfect. It’s simple — no lace, no crazy cut-outs, just a simple, white sundress. I would have been crushed if he had showed even the slightest sign that he didn’t like it. I wanted to look perfect today. I wanted to look perfect for him.

“The dress is new, and the earrings are my mom’s, so they’re old.” I pull on one of the earrings. “And these shoes are Hannah’s.” I point to the little, white boat shoes on my feet. “She won’t miss them — today anyway.” I send Andrew a mischievous grin, but then it slowly fades. “But I don’t have anything blue.”

Andrew stares at me for a second, then falls into the hammock beside me, puts his elbows on his knees and his fists under his chin and just sits there quietly.

“I got it,” he says, after another second. And I watch him pull his baseball state championship ring off his finger. “It’s blue.”

He takes my hand and slides the ring onto my thumb. There’s a spark in his eyes. He looks so happy.

I hold my hand out in front of me and fixate on the dancing sparkles in the blue jewel.

“It’s perfect,” I say, as I look up at Andrew. And for some reason, it’s as if I were looking at him for the first time because I notice him — like really notice him — as being a man and not just a boy. He’s wearing dark slacks, a light blue collared shirt and a gray vest with his black motorcycle boots. It just might be the most dressed up I’ve ever seen him.

“You look really good,” I say.

He looks down at himself.

“You think so?”

It’s cute the way he seems so unsure of himself all of a sudden. I rarely see this side of him.

“Mm hmm,” I say, nodding my head. “You look perfect…ly sexy.”

He flashes me a wide grin.

“Now, save that thought for later, my dear,” he says, giving me a wink.

His confidence is back now.

I laugh softly and try to smooth the wrinkles, which the little eyelets in the hammock made, out of my dress.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me before,” I say. “It’s bad luck.”

Not even a second goes by before I feel the tip of Andrew’s finger touch my chin and then start to lift my face.

“Who believes in luck?” I watch his lips light up his handsome features. “You?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Me neither,” he says.

I start to smile too, but then it slowly fades.

“Andrew.”

His soft eyes catch mine.

“When we get married, you’ll still love me like you do now, right?” I lower my eyes. “It won’t change us, right?”

I peek through my eyelashes and notice Andrew’s face turning serious — not scared or anything — just as if he had thought about it too maybe.

“It more than likely won’t change you,” he says.

My gaze quickly darts up toward his again.

“But you?” I ask it as if I’m scared to hear his answer.

He nods his head.

“You’ll change me all right, Logan.”

I stare at him with questioning eyes. I don’t want him to change, and I sure don’t want to be the reason he changes.

“You’ll make me a better man,” he says, before I can say anything.

I suck in a deep breath and command my heart to beat again. I love him so much. It scares me sometimes when I think about how lucky…blessed…I am to have found the love of my life the first time around. I never had to cry the tears that my best friend Sara had to when she broke up with her first boyfriend our sophomore year. And I never had to experience the indecision or the what ifs that my sister Hannah talked about every time she climbed into my bed and said she just needed me to listen. There was always some boy whom she wanted to date and always another one whom she had second thoughts about letting go. I got them all confused, but like I said, it didn’t matter; I just needed to listen. But I did always wish that Sara and Hannah could have found someone like Andrew when they were nine too. Then, maybe they could have saved some of their tears. Life was a whole lot less dramatic for me. I liked it that way. But more than I loved a simple existence, I loved Andrew Amsel.

“You ready to get married?”

I force my eyes to his.

“More than ready,” I say.