Page 138 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

She turns to Logan and places the medal over his head. “Congratulations on finishing the Boston Marathon.”

Logan pulls me into a hug. I squeeze him and hold on. We did it. We ran this race and finished strong. We crossed that line together.

Another volunteer wraps us in space blankets, thermal foil coverings to help us retain our body heat. She ushers us along through the crowd to keep the flow of the thirty thousand athletes moving.

Once we’re out of the way, I crack open the bottle and take a long draw, gulping down water as if I haven’t had a drink in days. Then I hand it to Logan, and he chugs almost all of what’s left.

We make our way to a spot where volunteers are handing out more water, sports drinks, protein bars, and bananas.

Logan loops his arm around my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Olivia. You are a rock star.”

“Thank you,” I say, clasping my medal and smiling up at him. “Are you even hurting?”

“I feel the burn, yes.”

We down our electrolyte drinks, and then Logan grabs my hand and we weave through the crowd to the spot where we’re meeting our families and Megan a few blocks from the finish line. My legs ache the whole walk. Logan and I are quiet, sharing private glances every so often. Mostly, I’m taking in the whole experience and feeling more bone tired and sore than I ever recall feeling in my life.

We make it to Stuart Street, where our family and thousands of other spectators are waiting in zones demarcated alphabetically by runners’ last names. We told our family to gather at the “A” sign for Alexander.

I see Megan first out of all our family and friends. She runs over to me and pulls me into a hug, and my tears fall all over again.

“You did it!” she shouts when she releases me.

I smile. “We did it.”

She looks over at Logan and winks.

He drops my hand. Megan grabs his hand to shake it. She’s acting weird.

She pumps Logan’s hand up and down. “You made it. Good job, Logan.”

I look between the two of them.

Logan turns to me and he drops to one knee.

It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing.

He clears his throat, staring at me with so much love and tenderness, I nearly buckle.

“Olivia, you challenge me like no one else. You make me a better man than I would ever be without you. You bring excitement to my life. And you settle me in ways I’ve never known possible. Gil said it when I first started working at Barnes. In you, I’ve met my match.”

Logan smiles up at me. I’m staring down at him in disbelief.

“You are the best woman I know. You’re my best friend, my best competitor, and my best cheerleader.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. We’re both still wrapped in our thermal blankets. We’re sweaty and sore, and my head is swimming with emotion.

“Beyond all that, I want to promise you something. I told you last year that I vowed to never overlook you, to always consider you. I want to vow more than that. I want to be by your side, to give you my best and to walk alongside you in our worst. I want to love you every day of my life and I want to raise a family with you. Olivia Pennington, I am so madly in love with you. Will you be my wife?”

“Yes!” I shout the word so loudly, people around us turn to see what’s going on. A collective “Awwww” rises from the crowd around us.

I feel all the eyes on us—that is, until my eyes find Logan’s again. He’s standing from his spot on the ground, carefully, with a wince as he rises to his full height.

He takes my hand in his, his eyes still riveted to mine. I extend my hand and Logan places the ring on my finger. Then he leans in and kisses me in front of our families, Megan, and all the crowd gathered to greet their loved ones at the end of the marathon.

Logan’s kiss is like an oasis. He’s my safe place, my partner, the man I trust more than anyone else in the world. We’ve grown up together, and in this past year we’ve grown past the hurt and beyond our old patterns to bring out the best in one another. Logan tugs me close, and I loop my arms around his neck.

He bends in and kisses me again, brushing his mouth next to my ear before we pull apart. “You did it, Pennington. You conquered the Boston Marathon.”

“And I got the prize,” I say, cupping his jaw and staring up at him.

Logan glances around at the crowd of onlookers. Then he shouts, “She said yes!” and the crowd cheers, claps, and whistles.

He reaches over and swipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb.

I smile up at Logan, my biggest rival who has turned into my greatest cheerleader and the love of my life, and I whisper, “It was always you.”

Logan leans in, placing his mouth near my ear again so only I can hear him, and he says, “And it will always be you for me, Pennington. Always and only you.”

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