London in the fog. London in the drizzle of an evening.
We're out in this miserable weather solving a crime.
I've concluded my observations.
But he-he, who stands by my side, captures my arm.
I'm amazing, he says, for solving this crime within minutes of our arrival.
I could have-but then-I don't.


A quiet, boring evening at home with him.
He's made tea and is reading the latest sports page.
The sofa is not long enough to hold my stretched out body, so I curl up.
He notices and grunts.
Disapproval, I understand.
Twisting up and out of the fetal position, I pace instead.
He mutters.
I stop in front of his chair, knowing I could have-but then-I don't.


Snow falls, heavy.
My violin's song is as soft as the snowflakes.
He has taken a shower, his blonde hair is still wet, his feet in socks.
I notice the slight rip in the pajama top and point to it with the tip of the bow.
He giggles.
So cute.
I could have-but then-I don't.

Our landlady is bustling about the kitchen.
Trying her best to clean up the mess, the mess that is my latest science experiment.
He, understanding my agitation, talks peacefully to her.
Preventing her from doing any more harm.
She bustles out, turns, and says she'll have hot buns for us later tonight.
He grins at me.
I could have-but then-I don't.

It's three in the morning.
Insomnia has its grip on me.
I'm trodding the parlor floor back and forth.
He comes downstairs, hair tousled, eyes adjusting to the dim light.
No grumbles about waking him at this dreadful hour.
Instead, he walks to the kitchen, turns on the water tap, places the kettle under it, and fires up the stove.
Tea is set forth on the coffee table and, he sits.
He waits for me to calm myself and enjoys the moment for what it is.
I could have-but then-I don't.

He's laid there so quiet.
His arm in a cast, his face a mass of bruises.
I was too hasty and in that haste, an iron pipe descended on my head.
He took the man down.
He saved my life.
Again.
And again.
Never a complaint.
Always willing to risk his life for me.
I could have-but then-I stop and with the moment ripe for confession, I whisper, "I love you."