“Yes.”
She gives me a small, tired smile. “Probably over dinner. Or on a walk. Somewhere less… bacon-adjacent.”
I laugh then.
Softly. Helplessly.
“Sorry.”
“You should be. I had a whole dignified approach.”
“I’m devastated to have robbed you of it.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” I admit. “I’m really not.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand.
No hesitation.
No armour.
Just her fingers sliding between mine as if they have belonged there longer than either of us has been brave enough to say.
“I love you too,” she says.
I take her face in both hands.
She leans into my touch.
Not guarded. Not braced. Just there.
“You love me,” I say, because I am not above needing to hear it twice.
Her smile is tired and luminous. “I love you.”
I kiss her.
Her hands slide around my waist, and she leans into me as if the decision has already been made somewhere beneath the words. As if all we are doing now is catching up.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine.
“The cottage is not a yes yet,” she says. “But it’s not a no.”
“I'm happy with that.”
“We’ll look at it together.”
“Yes.”
“And discuss money properly.”
“Absolutely.”
“And those bathroom tiles will not survive.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
