Page 105 of How To Serve Up Love

“I didn’t plan it,” I say. “It just escaped.”

She presses her lips together, blinking rapidly. “Typical.”

“I do love you,” I add, quieter now. “In a very un-dramatic, deeply inconvenient, completely certain way.”

Her hands slide up my chest and curl into my jumper like she needs proof I’m solid.

“Oh,” she says, voice wobbling despite her best efforts. “Well. That’s annoying.”

“Why?”

“Because I was planning to be very measured about this,” she says. “Very grown-up. Possibly with bullet points.”

I smile. “You can still do that.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’ve ruined it.” She takes a breath. “I love you too.”

There it is. Soft. Unequivocal. Like it’s been waiting patiently for her to catch up.

My body settles in a way my head has not quite caught up with yet.

“Good,” I say, because I am a man of great eloquence. “That’s… very good.”

She laughs and wipes at her eyes. “I can’t believe we just said it over a burnt pan.”

“I think it’s fitting,” I reply. “Domestic adversity. Emotional honesty.”

She pulls me back into her, arms firm, sure.

“Next time,” she murmurs, “we’ll say it over something less traumatic.”

“Next time,” I agree, kissing the top of her head. “And many times after that.”

I don’t tell her that, for me, there is no version of this that is temporary.

I love her. And that’s enough to hold the rest until she’s ready to hear it.