“No, he’s okay. I think he’s getting a kick out of helping Logan.”
Twenty minutes later, Nick pushed his way through the people and found us. “He’s fading, but I think he’ll do it.”
Logan wanted to finish under four hours. He’d told me his last marathon he’d finished in four hours and two minutes. So close to hitting a sub-four hour race. Every time Nick glanced down to check his phone, I glanced with him. Three hours and forty-one minutes.
Time kept ticking by, and no Logan. The playful banter between the newlyweds ceased, and I thought we were all chanting in our heads for Logan to be the next racer to turn the corner.
“Yeah, man!” Nick suddenly cried. “Holy shit, he’s gonna get it.”
Logan’s shirt was pasted to his body in sweat, or possibly water he’d tossed on himself, and there was a focused expression I’d never seen before. Utterly competitive and driven. It turned my insides into liquid, flooding me with desire.
He swung his arms, one hand clutching a black pouch of energy gel, and seeing us gave him the final burst I think he needed. Every second brought him closer, and closer, and clos
er to me. And then, he was gone, streaming toward the finish.
We hurried toward the runner reunion area in Grant Park, and a few minutes later Nick’s phone buzzed with notification of Logan’s unofficial time. He’d done it.
His younger brother was all smiles. “He’ll have to go through gear check, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”
We waited outside the tall green fence as runners meandered out the exit, finisher medals and shiny Mylar blankets draped over their fatigued bodies, but smiles on their faces.
Then, he appeared through the line of runners.
“Hell, yeah,” Nick said. “Three hours, fifty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.”
It’s like Logan wasn’t even listening. His focused look was on me.
“Hi,” he said loudly over the fans around us as he approached.
“Hi, boss,” I yelled back. “I’m so proud of—”
“I have to tell you something.” It was hard to hear, and I worked through the crowd, Hilary and Nick following me.
“What is it?” I was concerned when I reached him. He looked . . . weird. Exhausted from the race, but also nervous. Nick passed a black pouch of energy gel to him and took the gear bag from Logan’s hands. To my side, Hilary had her phone out. Was she taking pictures?
“I don’t want to keep anything from you,” he said. “So you should know I bought an engagement ring.”
I couldn’t hear the people around us anymore. “What? When?”
“That day you had lunch with Blake.”
Right after he’d heard me confess I thought he could be the one. Oh. My. God. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this stunning information. And that black pouch wasn’t energy gel. It wasn’t plastic, but fabric. My body tingled with anticipation and nerves.
“I have rules.” His fingers disappeared into the pouch. “Just one, actually. You have to answer my questions honestly.”
It was a platinum band with a large emerald-cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds, and the moment it came out he sank to one knee. I pressed my fingers to my lips, my gaze going from his, to the ring he held up, and then back to him. My body froze into a statue.
There was a red observation tower nearby that elevated the race spotters a few feet above the crowd and, when Logan knelt down, the spotter went on high alert.
“Runner down,” he yelled into a megaphone. “Runner down.”
Logan’s gaze went to the man in the tower and turned to his brother. “Is he talking about me?”
Nick yelled to the spotter that Logan was fine. That he was proposing. It wouldn’t sink in, even after hearing that. Logan Stone was down on one knee, proposing. To me. His focus returned to mine when it was clear the spotter got what was happening.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
I nodded, my eyes wet with tears. “Yes.”