“You get ten steps ahead of yourself,” he says. “All the time.”
He lets that sink in.
“We just had one of the best nights of our lives. Honestly, that was a classic. I’ll remember it forever.”
I look down at my coffee. “Me too.”
“Do you remember what you said when we were doing it the second time?” he adds.
My stomach flips.
“Oh. The L-bomb,” I say. “Sorry. That was the wine and?—”
“No, it wasn’t,” he says, cutting me off gently. “Don’t apologize.”
I look up. “You’re right. It wasn’t the wine.”
“So I just want to say. Soberly. Well, mostly sober. I love you, too.”
My breath catches.
“I’m just annoyed I didn’t get to say it first,” he adds with a small grin.
Heat blooms in my chest.
“I mean,” he continues, “you kind of beat me to it with the letter. I didn’t even have a chance.”
I smile.
“But I’ll get you back,” he says. “Somehow.”
He leans over and kisses my forehead.
“Love you,” he says again.
I exhale, something in me finally settling. “Love you, too.”
He leans back, and stretches his arms out.
“So,” he says casually, “speaking of getting ahead of ourselves, where should we retire? If we’re living in Florida already, we might get bored of it.”
I laugh.
“I’m more concerned about our kids’ names.”
“How about Ferdinand?”
I stare at him. “You’re joking.”
“No,” he says. “I’m dead serious. I think it’s strong. Kingly.”
“Absolutely not.”
He grins. “See? This is nice. I like this.”
“Fighting about hypothetical children’s names?”
“Exactly. We’re really good at fighting, apparently.”
