I want to surprise her with something I’ve had planned since one of our early conversations.

I remember a lot of what we’ve talked about, but this one in particular was special to me. It was the first time we acknowledged an us outside rigid roles and paid outings. A potential maybe-this-could-be-something-down-the-road comment. It had been an offhanded suggestion, said in jest and without any expectation, and now I intend to follow through with my idea. Especially because she liked it, too.

I check my watch, knowing it’s been long enough for the guys to get everything set up. If we divert to get dinner, they’ll have plenty of time to evacuate my apartment before we arrive.

“C’mon. Let’s get you fed then go home.”

“I wasn’t aware we lived together.”

“Not yet we don’t. But you better believe it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Taking her hand in mine, we walk along the trail of yellow back to the atrium of the museum, a complacent, content silence following behind us the whole way.

“Henry.”

“Yeah, honey?”

“We need to pick up the flowers. I don’t want people cleaning up our—your—mess.”

God. This woman. This selfless, caring, thoughtful woman.

After an emotionally charged confessional, what does she do?

Think of other people.

Fuck my heart skipping a beat at her kindness.

It’s going to be skipping a beat for the rest of my life, isn’t it?

“Which answer do you want to hear? I hired someone to take care of it? Or that I planned on getting here first thing in the morning to clean it up myself?”

“The second one,” she says without hesitation.

I press a kiss to her hair. “The director is letting me in at 6 a.m. sharp. And I’m bringing reinforcements.”

Her face relaxes, softening into a small smile. “I love you.”

I will never, ever get sick of hearing her say those three words.

Three words I had no clue I was capable of speaking or believing.

Now that I have—and she said them in return, willingly and enthusiastically—I want to scream them from the Empire State Building.

I want to tattoo them across my forehead so everyone can know the woman who has my whole heart.

I’m going to say the declaration so much, she’s going to be fucking sick of it.

“I love you, too, Emma.”

We take the elevator to the parking garage, climb into my truck, and take off for the closest Chipotle. Emma orders our dinner on the app, and I run in to pick it up, checking out the window every few seconds to make sure she’s still sitting in the passenger seat.

She doesn’t budge.