“Oh, James.” I had no other words—it was a rare moment.

It was so pretty, so thoughtful. And even though we hadn’t eaten a thing or tasted the champagne, even before we sat on the blanket, I thought it was the single most romantic moment of my life. I wished I could have taken a photo to show Cat—and everyone else I’d ever met—but I knew it would break the spell.

“Come, sit.” I walked over to the blanket and slipped off my sandals before nestling in, a giant pillow at my back. James busied himself with the bubbles and poured two glasses, handing one to me.

“I actually have a stunning bottle of red in the basket, but I thought we could start with this, and a toast, to celebrate.”

Celebrate? Holy crap, is he proposing? He’s not, right? That would be mad.

“So, what are we celebrating?” I asked as casually as possible for a woman who thinks she may be getting proposed to.

He hesitated, just for a moment, but long enough for a shot of terror to jolt through me.

“We’re celebrating … well, us.” Gulp. “I know it’s only been a few weeks since I first saw you in Santorini, and even less time since I’ve got to know you—properly, I mean—but I do know you’re someone special. You’ve become important to me, Sarah.”

My eyes were locked on his, my heart racing.

“And I don’t say this lightly, because I haven’t felt this way for a very long time. I’m falling in love with you.”

Oh. My. God.

I was holding my breath, and I realised my mouth was hanging open. I shut it. Looking like a goldfish when a man is pouring his heart out to you is less than optimal.

“And I know it’s early days for us, and that you go back to Sydney soon—too soon in my mind—but if you have feelings for me, then I want to find a way for us to be together, to see what this can become.”

So, there it was. Not a proposal, thank goodness. I was surprised at how relieved I felt, but really, it would have been far too soon. And it would have made me question his sanity or his motives—or both.

But James wanted me. He wanted me.

As I held his gaze, I wondered if he expected me to say something and I seriously hoped he didn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to say. I knew I felt something for him, but to label that and say it out loud seemed so formal, almost like a commitment, one I wasn’t ready to make.

Talk about having a bigger life. It was all incredibly overwhelming.

“Don’t feel like you have to say anything—or decide anything—right this minute.” Relief flooded through me. Could this man be any more perfect?

But I had to give him something of myself. He had laid his heart bare.

So, I did what mine told me to. I leant forward and kissed him, pulling him close with the front of his shirt. I didn’t know if a kiss could convey everything I was feeling, everything I wasn’t quite able to parse or ready to say, but I hoped so.