“There you go,” I say, depositing the huge bouquet into Peter Lonney’s arms. We’d offered to have it delivered to his wife, but he’d insisted on coming to pick up the flowers himself.

“Ah, geez, they’re beautiful, Blake. Your mom do these up?”

“Yup. Just for you.” I think Mom has a soft spot for Mr. Lonney — or maybe his wife — because she always does his arrangements with extra care. This time, she’s added clusters of white bouvardia, sprigs of Italian ruscus. It’s truly stunning.

“She’s got a real gift,” he says, with a shake of his head. “You tell her thank you for me, will you?”

“Of course. I hope your wife likes them. How’s the dishwasher?”

He rubs his forehead. “Well, wouldn’t you know it, ​we ran into an issue with the pipes that run up to it. Had to rip out that whole wall, and now we might be looking at replacing a whole whack of piping. Isn’t that the devil?”

“That’s the devil, alright.” I grin. “So I guess we’ll see you again soon?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I think you probably will.”

He tips his cap and then disappears out the front door. The chimes above the big green door tinkle and then fade. The store is empty again, except for Mom, who’s in the back sorting out arrangements for an upcoming wedding. I flop down onto the stool I’ve taken to keeping behind the counter with me and take a big swig from my water bottle.

The door chimes again.

“Did you forget something, Mr.—” I stop mid-sentence. Because it isn’t Mr. Lonney standing there at the entrance of Bloomers. It’s...

“Logan.”

“Hi Blake.”

He’s so tall and broad-shouldered that he seems to take up half the space in the shop. He moves carefully between the tiny aisles, past the display of ready-to-go bouquets and the Thanksgiving centerpieces we’re promoting right now. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Everything about him is magnetic, even now. Even after everything.

His eyes roam over my face as he comes towards me, only darting once or twice down to my stomach, which is still well-hidden beneath a baggy t-shirt and the well-worn green apron that I wear when I’ve been handling the inventory.

“You look good,” he says, when he arrives at the back, where I’m standing. There’s a two-foot wide counter between us, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon. It feels completely impassable.

“Thanks. So do you.” God, my mouth is dry. I swear I really am standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon. All I need now is a pack mule and a postcard. I take another desperate swig of water.

“I was hoping we could talk. Do you think you can get away?”

“Um.” My eyes dart towards the back. “It’s just me and Mom here right now, and she’s busy getting a big order together and—”

“Blake, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere.”

“—but maybe at five when we close?” I say at the same time.

“Oh. Great. Okay, five would be great.” Logan tries to smile, but the expression is strained. Now that I look closer at his face, there are fine lines around his eyes that I’m sure weren’t there before. Although he’s shaved, his cheeks look hollow. He looks like he’s been through hell.

So maybe I’m not the only one.

“There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts down the street. If you want to wait somewhere.”

“I’m okay. My car is right outside. I’ll just wait here.”

“Okay. I should be out at five.”

Logan nods, then turns and walks out of the shop. I watch him go, then peek out the window as he walks to his car.

For the next hour, I’m at that window every spare second I get. Almost like I have to reassure myself that he’s still there. That this is really happening. He came for me. That’s good, right? That’s what I wanted?

I feel so confused that I don’t even know anymore. I count down the seconds until five o’clock. One slowly agonizing second at a time.

At exactly five minutes to five, Mom emerges from the back room, untying her apron as she walks towards me. “Ready to call it a night?”

“Um....” I cast another glance out the window.

“What?” Mom follows my gaze and sees the SUV. She frowns. “Is that your old boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” She smiles. “Did he come to beg you to take your old job back? He must miss you.”

“I’m not really sure why he’s here,” I say honestly. “But I should probably talk to him. So … are you okay to lock up here?”

“Of course. Go. Do you need me to pick you up anything for dinner?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” I’m already untying the green apron and finger-combing my hair. There’s nothing I can do about the bags under my eyes or the fact that I’m wearing the world’s frumpiest t-shirt, but I can at least put on some lip gloss and pop a breath mint.

After a couple of minutes, I realize Mom is staring at me. Okay, I guess that’s enough killing time.

“I’ll be home soon,” I say, grabbing my sweater and planting a kiss on her cheek. I can feel her gaze on me as I leave the store, and I’m sure if I turned around, I’d see a whole bunch of questions in her eyes. So I don’t turn around.

Logan is out of his car before the shop door even swings closed behind me.

“Ready?”

I nod. I want to hug him or kiss him or do something, but his hands are stuffed in his pockets, and there’s still that matter of the yawning canyon between us. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t really know,” he says. “Just ... somewhere we can talk.”

“Okay. There’s a picnic area down in Leaside Park — it’ll probably be quiet there since it’s too cold to picnic.”

“That sounds great. Think you can direct me there?”

“Sure.”

He tries to help me into the car, but I brush away his hand. It isn’t because I don’t appreciate the offer, but because I’m afraid that if I touch him right now, I’ll never want to stop touching him. Logan is an addiction, and his touch is the strongest drug of all.

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead he just hovers while I climb in, and then goes around to the driver side.

“Take a left at the first light,” I instruct.

He nods without saying anything, and we drive in silence. I give out instructions, but that’s it. It doesn’t take long to drive there — Highfield isn’t exactly a big town. I hated it when I was growing up, but now it seems so comforting and familiar. There’s the street everyone wanted to trick or treat on, because they gave out the best candy. There’s the house my best friend in elementary school lived in. There’s the bowling alley where I kissed Tommy Bleeker at his ninth birthday party. Every road has a memory attached to it, every square mile feels like home. Why did I ever want to leave this?

When we get to the park, Logan stops the car. I hop out before he can come around to help me, and then we start walking. Still silent. I notice he’s carrying a bag, but I don’t ask any questions about that.

The picnic area, as I expected, is deserted. A few squirrels dart through the fallen leaves, probably scrounging for winter nuts, or whatever it is squirrels do when the seasons change. We watch them for a couple of minutes, sitting side by side on the bench seat of a picnic table. It seems neither of us wants to be the first to speak.

But the silence keeps stretching on. And on. And on. It goes on so long that it stops being weird and just starts being funny. Before I can stop it, a giggle escapes my lips.

Logan arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is just a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?”

I get a half-smile for that. “It is. A bit.”

“So .... what did you want to talk about?”

“I love you.”

“Say what?” The words stun me. My heart knocks against my chest. I thought he’d at least ease into it, but it seems like the silence was just Logan’s way of readying himself to say what he really needed to say.

“I’m in love with you, Blake. I might have been scared to admit it, but now I don’t care. I thought I knew what love was before, and then I met you, and everything I thought I knew about love, about myself — you turned it all on its head.”

“Logan, I—”

“No, I’m not finished.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, but I have to finish. I thought a lot about what I wanted to say to you on the drive down here. And what I want to say is this: I want to marry you, Blake. Not because you’re having my baby, or because I want to put you in a box I can control, but because I can’t imagine being with anyone else. Because I want to be your husband. I want to be your everything.”

I try to keep it together, but tears are pricking my eyes. How long have I waited to hear this? How long have I dreamed of hearing those words on Logan’s lips? But there’s a part of me that still hangs back. I hate to admit it, but I’m still scared to trust him. To trust this. To trust us.

“Don’t say anything yet,” Logan holds out his hand. “I have something for you.”

“Logan, if it’s a diamond, I told you I don’t want—”

“It’s not a diamond.” He sets the bag on the picnic table and carefully pulls something out. It’s a picture of some kind, gleaming in an aged wood frame. My mind whirs, trying to understand. Even once he hands it over to me, I still don’t understand. There’s a diagram on it, a bunch of numbers ... and a poem.

I blink at him in confusion.

“Remember when you got my mother that star for her birthday?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” I smile. One of my early triumphs in working for the impossible Mr. Cartwright.

“Well, I thought the gesture was very touching. But I wanted to give you more than a star, Blake, because you’re more than a star to me. You’re my entire universe. They wouldn’t let me buy the whole universe, though, so a galaxy was the best I could do.”

“You got me ... a galaxy?” I blink down at the picture, understanding finally dawning.

“It was the best I could do,” he says again. He watches me expectantly, trying to gauge my reaction.

I laugh.

I can’t help it. A freaking galaxy. I laugh until tears are streaming down my face.

“You think it’s stupid,” Logan says quietly.

“No!” I jump up off the bench and turn to face him. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” I look down at the frame again, feeling my heart swell with the kindness of his gesture. “I think it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Yeah?” His mouth quirks up into a half smile.

“Yeah.” I step between his thighs, until I’m as close to him as I can get without actually touching him. The smell of his cologne — or maybe it’s just the scent of him — nearly knocks me off my feet.

“I love you, Blake,” he says seriously. “You are my whole world.”

“I love you too, Logan.”

I let him take me in his arms, pull me down onto his lap, the frame still clutched against my chest. I let him kiss me. I let him crush my mouth with his. I let him take my breath away. The way I want him to do for the rest of our lives.

His arms around me are strong and powerful, and even in my bloated state, I feel positively petite and completely cared for. I curl my body against him. I was so scared I’d never feel this again. So scared.

I pull away as a sob threatens to choke me. Logan’s eyes are worried. I give him a watery smile.

“I’m sorry. Just overwhelmed.”

I lean against him for a minute, then look again at the frame I’m still holding. I trace my fingers over the gold embossing, the coordinates of the galaxy, somewhere out there, that belongs to me. To us.

For the first time, I read the words printed beneath the diagram.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper. I trace the words with my fingers. It really is perfect.

Logan wraps his arms around me again, pulling me to him. “I still want to marry you,” he says. “But it’s up to you. I’m perfectly happy to live in sin with you. Lots and lots of sin,” he adds with a wink.

I laugh, and then, just as suddenly, stop. I clap my hand over my mouth.

“What?” Logan’s face creases.

I bite my lip. My stomach is flip-flopping in a way that makes me want to throw up. “Before we make any big decisions, there’s something I need to tell you.”