W inter gives way to spring, and spring gives way to summer. It’s been the longest six months of my life. Lots of thinking. Lots. And moving. Last month, I used some of my nanny savings to rent out my own apartment in Chelsea right in the City. I have Logan to thank for that, though some might say I did that myself .

Either way, today I have my first interview since Logan’s .

It’s hard. I’m not going to lie. The memories come strong today, what I wore that morning, standing outside his penthouse worried about the interview, the way I felt when I first saw him. A mixture of terror and pure lust. It was a mistake. Inherently, I know it was. So why does it still hurt so damn much? If it wasn’t truly love, I would’ve forgotten about him by now .

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen nor spoken to him since the courthouse when I cried and questioned my existence the whole train ride home. But today’s interview takes place near Battery Park, the site of the urban center Logan is building. Imagine my shock when I come up from the subway station to find that the buildings are nearing completion .

At four in the afternoon, the sun slants and glints off a gorgeous edifice of glass. I have to stop and soak it in—it’s breathtaking. About forty stories tall, the building’s exterior reflects the moody harbor so at times it appears light green and at others, like blue iridescent metal. Slightly different from the plans Logan showed me, but beautiful just the same .

Next to it, another building is nearly finished. I’m not sure what it is, but it wasn’t part of the blueprints and renderings he showed me. Must be something new. Then, I notice it—the teardrop pattern etched into the glass. As I walk toward the complex, the pattern appears and disappears depending on the angle .

Paisleys.

Logan worked paisleys into his buildings .

I can’t stop staring, as tears alarmingly rise into my eyes .

But why ?

I don’t want to admit it, because I know whose mind it came from, I know who designed it, but it’s hard to turn away. It’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen. And it’s been created with one person in mind .

Me.

An old woman sitting on a park bench next to me speaks. I didn’t even realize she was there, I’m standing here shaking so much. “Isn’t it gorgeous ?”

“It is,” I stammer .

“You should see it when it’s all lit up .”

“They’re already lighting it up? I thought it wouldn’t be done for another few months.” I keep my face turned away, in case the woman knows who I am from seeing my face in connection with Logan in the news .

“Oh, no, the library is finished. Just not open yet. The building next to it will take another month or two, but they’re going to do the ribbon-cutting both at once at the end of this month.” She nods her head, takes out her iPhone and snaps a few photos of it for her Snapchat story .

I almost laugh, because…well, she’s an old woman posting to her Snapchat story. But she clearly needs someone to talk to, and I’m rooted to my spot, staring at the masterpiece. It’s the most beautiful thing this park has seen in years. I could stare at it all day. Problem is, I have to get going. Besides, staring at a manifestation of Logan’s imagination right before my interview might not be the best thing to do .

I start off down the sidewalk again .

“Between the colors and the curves,” the woman continues. I slow down and turn to look at her. She’s smiling faintly. “You’d think the architect was inspired by that lady out there.” Following her gaze, I see she’s staring across the harbor at the Statue of Liberty. “Or maybe some other muse.” She looks straight into my eyes, into my soul, as some might say. “A living Mona Lisa for the architect. Wouldn’t that be something ?”

“Yes,” I reply, averting my face again. She knows who I am. She’s made the connection. “Yes, it would be .”

“A living work of art. Feminine, strong, evocative. Anyway, what do I know?” She laughs and goes back to Snapchatting. “Have a nice day .”

“You, too.” I take off faster than a pregnant woman in need of a bathroom .

Why would he add those paisleys, and what’s with the sea foam glass that changes when the light hits it just the right way? He can’t possibly still think of me. He hasn’t called me in six months. Wouldn’t he have called by now if he still thought of me ?

Maybe he wants to but he’s too proud ?

Tears well up in my eyes. I wipe them. Can’t think about Logan now when I’m three streets from my interview. All I know is if he hasn’t asked for forgiveness, then it wasn’t meant to be. A gentleman would’ve come back to me by now .

* * *

G etting the job was easy. The first thing they did was see that I’d taken care of twins for four months and handed it to me on a silver platter. It’s an old couple caring for their granddaughter, so luckily, they don’t know about Logan Raider, except that he’s a billionaire. The Housens haven’t followed the case or put two-and-two together, so they don’t know I’m the nanny with whom my former employer had “special relations .”

I’ve been working there a month and like it fine, but I miss Becca and Price. Caring for a baby is lovely, but I really miss sitting with the Things and coloring or singing with them or building whole cities out of wooden blocks. I miss their hugs and their “Paisy! Paisy !”

The midsummer rain comes down hard one July afternoon as I’m returning home from work. I don’t ever need to sleep over the Housens’, which works for me, since I’ve been fixing up my apartment to look nice anyway. It’s not until I’m all the way to my door do I notice the Lamborghini parked outside my building and why it’s there—sitting at the end of the hall holding a big bouquet of pink and white roses is Logan Raider .

“Jesus, you scared me!” I press my palm to my exploding chest .

“I would’ve waited downstairs, but it’s pouring outside.” That smile, that torturous look he somehow pulls off as charming every time. “As you well know .”

My heartbeat races inside my body, pounding my ribcage so hard I feel like I’m going to pass out. I hold onto the door frame in the open doorway. Five thousand thoughts pummel my mind at the same time. “What…what are you doing here, Logan ?”

“I wanted to see you .”

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean you can get it without permission.” I cross my arms. Hold tight, Paisley. You’ve suffered enough .

“I should’ve called first, but I was in the neighborhood. I figured I’d drop by .”

I stare at him so dumbfounded, so unbelievably shocked, I can’t speak. It’s really him right here in front of me. I’ve thought of him every single day for months—every morning, every night, and every moment in between. I was only now starting to get over him. Why is he here ?

“Fine, I wasn’t in the neighborhood.” He climbs to his feet and walks over to me slowly. “I’ve been meaning to call you for a while now but knew I had to see you in person first .”

“How did you know I lived here ?”

He chuckles lightly. “Come on, Paisley .”

Stupid question. He’s a billionaire. His money opens doors everywhere. If anyone should have first-hand experience with that, it’s me. He hands me the roses, and all I can do is stare at them. They’re, without a doubt, the most spectacular roses that money can buy. They smell amazing, too. “Thank you, but I can’t accept them.” I enter the apartment to breathe in clean, un-stifling air .

“Paisley, I know I hurt you. I haven’t stopped thinking about it for seven months.” Logan lingers in the doorway without coming in. At least he’s waiting to be invited instead of taking whatever he wants. Has he changed ?

“Why didn’t you call me, then? Why now, Logan?” I fling my hand aimlessly. I’m reeling from the sight of him after all this time. “Come in. Close the door, please .”

He does and walks in, setting the roses down on my little kitchen counter .

“Beautiful apartment. It suits you.” He towers over me, still as tall and handsome as ever, though his eyes are sadder .

“Why now, Logan? Why wait so long to come see me ?”

“I thought we needed the time. You were right—we never should’ve gotten together when we did, but I’m grateful that we did. Or else, I might never have fallen in love with you .”

Fallen in love. With me .

I face him, balancing my ass on the edge of the sofa. Much like the way I feel right now. “Logan, this is crazy. You have no idea how hard it’s been for me. I had to pick up so many pieces. I had to deal with the media, something I never asked for, I haven’t spoken to my father since that day, I’ve had to get angry at you in order to forget you. I had to take part in an ethics class at work, because of what we did.” It all comes out of my mouth like a torrent of rain. “You’ll never understand .”

“And yet, you still work with Le Nanny. Because they know how wonderful you are. Because they know it was mostly my fault…Fine, all my fault. But Paisley, I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t get you off my mind, as hard as I’ve tried. I did what I always do—I immerse myself in work to forget about life, and guess what? Even that failed. On the contrary, work became you .”

I think about the building that finally finished going up this week sitting down there along the banks of the Hudson, in the harbor, a building that many think is an homage to Lady Liberty but he and I and that old lady in the park all know that it’s me .

“I’m obsessed, Paisley.” He comes up to me and holds out his hands. I look down at them. Big hands. Thick fingers. I’ve missed them. I’ve missed those fingers and the way they’d take mine like I was a little girl to be cared for. “The kids miss you, too. I couldn’t hire anyone after you .”

He couldn’t ?

So he’s been taking care of the kids himself? “Who’s watching them?” I ask .

“My aunt and I take turns. They don’t want anyone but you, Paisy.” He says my nickname, and I nearly break into tears. God, I hate this. I hate falling apart when I most need to hold it together .

“You hurt me.” The words escape my lips. It’s fine. He needs to know it .

“I know.” His hands slip into mine. “I’ve been in therapy. It’s one reason why I’ve waited this long to see you. I wanted distance between the whole divorce debacle and now. I wanted to start clean without tons of overbearing stress on top of us. I wanted to make sure I could truly be different than who I was before. You deserve better than that .”

“I did,” I mutter, amazed that he’s taken these steps and thought this through. “I still do .”

He nods, brushes away my tears with one thumb. “I wanted to be that man for you, because I knew that’s what you’d want. The time apart was critical. Forgive me ?”

I shrug and look away, fighting back more tears. So, he wants me back? But what if this doesn’t work out? What if he thinks he can control me again, order me around or have a tantrum when it doesn’t go his way? This is the nature of who he is. I’m not sure that will ever change .

“I love you, Paisley.” He cups my face in both his hands. I always feel so delicate around him. “There’s also another reason why I came in person .”

“What?” I sniff and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I must look so terrible right now with my nose all red, my hair all messy. “You wanted to make sure no guys were hitting on me, so you could go raving mad and stuff me in your car ?”

He drops his chin out of shame then looks up like he’s already over it. “Come on, now .”

“Tell me what’s going on, Logan .”

He takes my hands together in one of his. “Our buildings open tomorrow. I wanted to invite you to the ribbon-cutting ceremony. It’s at six o’clock, and I’ll come get you myself .”

“Why should I be there?” And what does he mean by “our buildings ?”

“Because. That project has your name written all over it, Paisley. You made it happen. You inspired its concept, and I’m dedicating it to you. Please come. I want the whole world to know the woman behind the Battery Park Children’s Library and Paisley Arts Center.” He kisses me in the middle of my forehead .

Paisley Arts Center? My hands shake. Is he serious ?

“I want the whole world to know that I love you .”