By the time we finish, I’m so full I can barely move, and so happy I could burst.
“Thank you,” I say again, squeezing Logan’s hand across the table. “For all of this. For everything.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he says softly. “I love doing this with you. I love seeing you happy.”
“I am happy,” I say, and it’s the truest thing I’ve said in years. “I’m so happy I don’t even know what to do with it sometimes.”
“Then we’re doing something right.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk on the porch before we head up.”
We step out onto the long front porch, and the night air is cool and perfect. The rocking chairs are mostly empty now, just a few couples scattered along the length, talking quietly or simply sitting in comfortable silence.
Logan and I walk hand in hand to the far end, where we can see the lights of the bridge twinkling in the distance and hear the gentle lap of water against the shore far below.
“I could stay here forever,” I murmur.
“We’ve got two more days,” Logan says, pulling me close. “Let’s make them count.”
And standing there on that historic porch, wrapped in his arms with the stars coming out overhead, I know that wherever we go, whatever we do, as long as we’re together, it will be perfect.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
LOGAN
We leave the quaint little ice cream stand and get back on our bikes, cones in hand. The paved loop around the island stretches eight miles, most of it lined with stone-covered beaches overlooking Lake Huron, with the Mackinac Bridge rising in the distance. We ride for a while, finishing our ice cream before pulling off to the side of the trail where a stretch of beach looks particularly inviting.
“Wanna hang out here for a bit?” I ask.
“Yeah, definitely.”
I grab our bag from the bike basket and glance at the fudge we bought earlier. “You want some fudge?”
Tessa presses a hand to her stomach and groans. “God, no. I’m already in a sugar coma.”
She’s not wrong. We spent the morning going from shop to shop sampling every kind of fudge they had—chocolate peanut butter, maple walnut, turtle, sea salt caramel—and topped it all off with ice cream.
I spread the blanket out over the pebbled beach. Tessa sits down, leans back on her hands, and lifts her face toward the sun.
“What a beautiful day,” she says, eyes closed. “I love it here.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty perfect.” I stretch out on the blanket and tip my ball cap down to shade my eyes. The warm breeze and the sound of water lapping against the shore make me want to drift off.
Tessa pulls a book from her bag—one she borrowed from Ari—and cracks it open.
“Must be good,” I say.
“Oh, it’s so good.” She settles in, already absorbed. “And this is the perfect place to read. You know, I never understood the point of romance novels before now.”
I tilt my hat up and look over at her. “No?”
She shakes her head. “I never read them before Ari started lending them to me. I think I always resented the idea of perfect, happy couples in romance novels. It felt… unrealistic. But now that I have you—” She glances at me with a soft smile. “I get it.”
“Yeah?” I grin.
“Oh, definitely.”
“What’s that one about?” I nod toward the book.
