"Yeah."
"I love you."
She said it without lifting her head. She said it like a woman setting down something she'd been carrying for a long time. The book didn't move on her chest. Her hand on my forearm didn't tighten.
I stopped my thumb on her ankle.
I'd thought it two minutes earlier that she was somebody I loved. The words were there. I just hadn't noticed them being there until she put hers down beside them.
I looked down at her.
She lifted her head a quarter inch. She was already looking up at me. Her thumb had come to rest on the inside of my wrist, the place where her thumb had been on the drive home from the lake.
"You meant that."
"I meant that."
I lifted her off my shoulder by both elbows, gently, and brought her up to face me on the cushion. She came up willingly.
I put both hands on either side of her face.
"Astrid."
"Yes."
"I love you, too."
She closed her eyes. They stayed closed for a count of three, then opened again, and there was a small bright film along the bottom of them she didn't let move past her lashes.
"I know when," she said.
"When?"
"On the bank. After the lake. You said that wasn't boredom. You said it was me keeping myself alive." Her eyes opened. "Nobody ever said that to me before."
I tipped her chin up.
I kissed her.
Slow at first. Then less slow. She made a small sound against my mouth, moved up into my lap, and the book on her chest hit the rug.
She got her hands in my hair.
I got my arm under her knees and stood up off the couch with her against my chest.
She laughed against my mouth.
"Easton."
"Yeah."
"Where are we going?"
"Bed."
"Mmh."
"Don't argue."
