She couldn't say it. Not here, not like this. Not when she was so used to all their truths accidentally coming out in loud fits of rage and in moments they thought would be their last. That's what he would expect, so that's when she would say it. She would blurt it out in a mess of words and then when he looked at her and said it back a heartbeat later, she would say it again. She would enunciate all three syllables, leaving no room for misinterpretations. She would say it over and over until the words sounded funny and she was sure he would never forget.

She felt different. Not uncomfortable or bad different, just different in the way that she was content. But it was more than content. She felt happy, although she wouldn't dare say it out loud. She would never give him the satisfaction. Instead, she smiled when he brought her coffee, grazing his fingers with her own as she took the cup. She laughed at his cheesy puns. She opened her door wearing nothing but one of his shirts, unwashed because his scent was a song she never wanted to forget the lyrics to. She let him bring her breakfast in bed because all he wanted for her was the best. He wanted her to have the finer things, the absolute best of everything. He spoiled her in the most genuine and sincere sense of the word. He wanted her to know that she deserved everything he gave her.

She came to terms with the fancy restaurants and the beautiful jewelry, realizing that this was his way of showing her that she was special. But she made sure to set rules early on, claiming that she wasn't a "gold digger." He had laughed when she said it, the way she pronounced it lingering in his ears. He had taken her hand and told her nobody thought that, least of all him.

With him, it was always about the thrill. Always. Everything was exciting and nothing was dull. They got so caught up in every case and she loved that. She loved how he never stopped trying to solve the mystery. Who did it, why, how, he wanted to know it all, every little detail. He wanted the truth and she needed it. That's how it had been from the start.

She looked at him, but he was already staring at her. She smiled. She loved how he appreciated everything about her. He'd seen her nearly every day for years yet he was always looking, always taking the time to observe her, taking mental images of her, just in case.

The look on his face made her heart twitch. He was smiling with his mouth but his eyes were holding back. He wanted to say something, a million things maybe. She knew this because she knew him. It had been this way for a while. She had tried to ignore it in their relationship's early stages, telling herself she wasn't ready. Always too soon, too much, too permanent. She knew that once she said the words she desperately needed to say, she could never take them back. When things inevitably started to go downhill, she wouldn't be able to claim it was a mistake, wouldn't be able to cling to her own denial. There would be evidence. The words that she would've whispered to him every day up to their fall out would be proof that what they had was real, that she had been in it for the long haul.

She knew it was time. The urgent, reckless kisses could no longer serve as a dismissal of his potential confessions. It wasn't fair of her to do that to him. He was holding back and they both knew it. He called her remarkable and smiled as he held her hand and hugged her at the end of a rough day because he didn't want to overwhelm her, to scare her away.

He said it for the first time over a year and a half ago, whispering it twice in a frantic plea for her life to be spared. Her name was dropped from his lips, coated in sadness and desperation. He repeated the words a year after that, begging her again to just choose life. If she would just make the decision to live, for him, if anything, they would figure the rest out together. He had been mad then. Throwing her memory of his first admission in her face. She hadn't flinched or faltered, but he could tell her eyes were stinging. They look pained and tired and upset and he pretended not to notice, not to care.

It was a waiting game. Every day he would catch himself, stopping the words right before they came out of his mouth, hating how many I Love You's turned into I Think You're Amazing's. Complimenting her only did so much for him. He felt like he was deceiving her even though she was the one keeping him at bay. She would have been a fool if she didn't notice the slight pause after he said the word I and averted his gaze to anywhere else, anything but her face. He waited patiently because if he knew anything, it was that she didn't appreciate badgering or constant reminders, she would say it when she wanted to say it. He also couldn't help but feel the ball is in her court. He had told her, would tell her a hundred times if she asked him to, how he felt and now it was her turn. He thought of this when he worried she would never get there, to that point of honesty. He thought of this and relationships are a two-way street and every other cliché he could think of in order to justify his doubts.

He was still smiling at her when it was finally their turn to get on. He let her go first, watched her walk onto the platform before sitting down and pulling the heavy restraint over her chest, locking it in place with the small buckle that clicked when it was secure. He followed closely behind her, as he always would, sat down, and repeated her actions. They were in the front row. Go big or go home, she had said with a chuckle before resting her palm on his forearm and resting her small body against his firm one while they were waiting in line.

He asked her if she was nervous and she shook her head, her smile never fading. She always looked fear in the eye and he would never stop loving her for it. Just as they started moving forward, he felt it. He looked down and saw her hand on his thigh. She gave him a quick squeeze and then moved her hand up to his own, now white from gripping the bar that was keeping him in place. Don't worry, she told him, reassuring him with her presence and her touch and her words. It was more than enough for him. She would always be more than enough for him.

They were inching up, the track beneath them clicking with each foot they moved forward. She was still smiling and there's no way she can be that excited, he thought. But she was that excited. Because it was time. She waited until the moment before they descended in a straight line. On the last click, the one right before the fall, she whispered his name. He looked at her again, the way he would always look at her when she said his name, the way he would never stop looking at her. I love you. It was remarkable. It was better than the breeze in Summer that made him forget he was sweating, better than the face she made when the cappuccino machine failed her and erupted in a mass of white hot steam, better than the site of her in bed, snoring at a barely audible volume, hugging his pillow as if it were him when he finally emerged from his office late at night. It was worth the wait.