When did he start to notice such things—let alone become so fanciful? She inspired this in him. Turned him into some kind of poet who saw the wonder of nature reflected in her every feature. Made him hear music when he touched her. Made him want to sing to show her what was in his soul.

“Wait,” he said, shaking his head. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on their conversation and process what she’d been saying. “Did you not believe in love before?”

“True love?” Julia squirmed beneath him in a horizontal shrug. “Not really. I mean … how do you find perfect love in an imperfect world?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t think there is such a thing as a perfect love,” he admitted, turning the idea over in his mind. “Not as you mean it. But I do believe love can be perfect.”

She frowned. “But you just said you there’s no such thing as perfect love.”

“I did.”

“Then how can love be perfect?”

“We are all imperfect creatures inhabiting this imperfect world. Except you.” He leaned over, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re perfect.”

The tip of that perfect nose crinkled. “I thought you said we are all imperfect creatures.”

“I did,” he repeated.

She made a grumbly noise deep in her throat and glowered up at him. “Your explanation has a lot of holes.”

“It’s a sieve,” he agreed, unable to hold back a grin. How had he lived so long without the pleasure of riling her up? Of seeing the little pucker of frustration appear between her brows.

“Exactly.” She frowned. “It doesn’t hold water.”

And there was the pucker.

The urge to kiss her there beat hot within his chest, but Luke resisted. “True. But it does retain what’s important.” He watched her mull that statement over. “It’s a metaphor. When you rinse things out in a sieve, the water passes through, but what you’re rinsing—”

“I figured that out, thanks.”

“Um, right.” Luke swallowed. Had she figured out the rest of what he was trying to say, as well? He didn’t want to presume to explain further if she saw his point. He knew how much his sister hated it when he did that, and as far as he could tell, Julia wasn’t a fan of his “obsession with semantics” either.

“You were saying?” she prodded, a note of hesitation in her voice. Caution, not irritation. Luke could work with that.

“Right,” he said again. “Do you know how, in math, a negative multiplied by a negative makes a positive?”

Her lips pursed. “Do not try and tell me love is algebra.”