I laugh through my tears. “You’re stealing from my father, Logan.”
“Shamelessly. I figured if I couldn’t improve upon perfection, why try? Why not just borrow?”
“So where is the key?”
A nonchalant shrug. “I’ve got it. You’ll have to come find it, though.”
I cross the garden, pull You close. Run my hands down your hips, feel in your hip pockets; You’ve left Your phone at home, as have I, since Beth knows to call Gourmand if she needs us. Nothing. I pat Your back pockets, and You use my proximity to steal a kiss. And then another. And then the kiss is spiraling out of control, and I cannot help myself. I’m tugging at Your tie, at the coat, at the buttons of Your shirt.
But when I’ve got the shirt open, I see it:
A brass key on a red ribbon.
It isn’t an exact match for the diamond-crusted one dangling between my breasts at this very moment, however. No, the bow of this key is shaped like a heart, forged out of a solid, flat, two-sided piece of brass. Three letters have been carved or punched out of the solid brass: LWR—Logan Wesley Ryder.
The key to Your heart.
I tug the ribbon off Your head, clutch the key in my fist. And I kiss You until neither of us can breathe, until my dress has found its way up around my hips and we’re pressed up against each other, making love on the bench, right there on the rooftop, still partially clothed, desperate, wild.
“You have to open the box, babe,” You tell me.
I disentangle myself from You, reluctantly, I must admit. Settle my dress back down where it belongs, cross once more to the table, to the box. Slide the brass key into the lock, twist the heart. The catchsnicks, and I lift the lid.
Midnight-blue velvet lines the inside, and at the very center, a ring. Platinum, a huge, glinting, fiery diamond in the center, smaller ones on either side.
You are standing behind me; I feel You, as I can always feel You.
I turn, and You are reaching for me. Pulling me to You. Gazing down at me. Whispering against my lips. “Marry me, Isabel?”
I flatten my palm against Your chest; I’ve already put the ring on. “Yes, Logan.”
“Have my babies?”
I laugh. “I already did.”
“Oh yeah.” You kiss me, softly, gently. “Them.”
I pull out of your arms, remove my diamond Tiffany’s key, place it in the box. Remove the plain brass key from the lock, and slide the red ribbon over my head, settle the cold brass between my breasts. “Now your heart will always be with mine.”
“What was it your mother told you?” You gather me close, hold me tight. “Oh yeah. Your heart is what makes mine continue to beat every single day.”
“Now you’re stealing from my mother?” I tease him. “You need to get your own moves, Logan.”
You pull back, just a little. “Was that a joke?”
“A little one.”
“I must be rubbing off on you.”
“Rubbing offinme, you mean.”
“Anotherjoke? And a dirty one?” An amazed laugh. “Could this get any more perfect?”
I reach down. “We could have sex again?”
“That would do it, I’d say.”
Chapter
