Page 45 of Crosswind

I put my arms around him.

"Good morning," he says, into my neck. Then he lifts his head and kisses my jaw. My cheek. My temple. The side of my forehead. Working through them with complete dedication, the Patrick quality of someone who has decided to do a thing and is doing it thoroughly.

"Patrick," I say.

"Yes," he says, kissing my other cheek.

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being affectionate," he says. "There's a difference." He kisses my nose. Sits back slightly and looks at me with the expression he has when he is very happy and has decided not to moderate it. "You told me you love me last night."

"I'm aware."

"I'm just…” He grins. The full version, the one that takes over. "I'm very happy about that."

I look at him. At Patrick happy, warm and uncontained and entirely present, and feel something in my chest that I have decided to stop arguing with.

"You're perfect," I say.

He stares at me.

"I mean…” I stop. I do not, typically, say things like that. I am aware of this. "You are. Objectively. I want you to know that."

He looks at me for a long moment. Something in his face goes quiet — the quiet of someone receiving something they didn't expect and don't quite know what to do with.

"Jan," he says. His voice is different, quieter than usual, something careful in it.

"Yes."

He looks at me for a moment. His eyes are bright. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

I look at the ceiling briefly. "Don't make a thing of it."

"I'm making a thing of it." He kisses me — properly, both hands on my face, the Friday morning version. I let him. "You're perfect too," he says, when he pulls back. "Objectively. For the record."

"You don't have to…”

"I know I don't have to." He looks at me steadily. "You're perfect. To me. That's what I know."

I look at him.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay," he says.

He announces, over coffee, that I am taking the day off.

"I can't take the day off," I say. "It's Friday."

"It's Friday," he agrees, as if this confirms his point. "Which is basically the weekend."

"It is not basically the weekend. It is the last working day of the week."

"Jan." He wraps both hands around his tea and looks at me with the expression of someone who has made a decision and is waiting for me to catch up. "We had a significant emotional evening. You need to recover."

"I'm recovered."

"You're not recovered. You're Jan, which means you think you're recovered and are actually running on three hours of sleep and adrenaline." He takes a sip of his tea. "I have a plan."