[Grace had told herself he never needed to say the words because she felt them whenever he looked at her so openly, so fondly. There was no mistaking the look of love in his eyes. But to hear it said still grips her tightly, and she smiles wider with a small laugh, feeling like a schoolgirl whose crush has acknowledged her for the first time. Quite embarrassing, for a woman who quite likes being a grown woman and far removed from such silliness. Oh, but maybe they both make one another a little younger, a little less worn. It's not the worst to bring out in one another.

The words settle comfortably in her chest and she savors that feeling until she thinks he deserves to hear it in return. She's told him she loves him, but it's a different thing to be reaffirmed in it.]

I love you, too.

[Her free hand wipes at her eye. She's not crying. Perhaps a little misty-eyed, and a little choked up, but no tears fall. Just being sure.]

You're making it hard for me to leave, Tommy. I can scarcely imagine leaving this museum.

[These quiet, intimate moments between them are ones she'd live in forever if she could. Every time they pass, every time they part, she worries she might have experienced the last of them. She doubts his love is fleeting or fickle--quite the opposite--but it's a worry that something will suddenly uproot all of this, somehow.]

I'll miss you.

[A given, but another thing she wants him to hear.]