"Okay," she agrees with another gentle smile. That's something she's more than comfortable with and she keeps thinking how she doesn't want to get out of bed, she doesn't want to go anywhere that isn't right here and it's not possible, but that's what he does to her. And she's not naive, she knows every single day won't be like this, she knows that's just not possible, but if they do what they've said, if they don't let the other forget, she thinks most days will be their own kind of special.

He makes her chest ache in a good way and she thinks about that line of poetry she'd said to him the day before, the idea of carrying his heart in hers. She wonders if that's what this ache is, like something full up and about to spill over because she's not just carrying her own anymore.

She doesn't know how to say something like that, though, and so she falls back to the words that encompass everything and yet still seem to fall a little short. "I love you," she says. "More'n I think you maybe really know."