Lee smiles slowly, a hint of crooked teeth. It's so good to hear. It's been four or five years since anyone said that to her, unless you count the ones who have been drunk, desperate, and pawing at her. That's unromantic. She knows what Michael's like.
"Okay." Her nose brushes against his, their faces are that close. Her pupils are hugely dilated, making her eyes dark. She tells him she loves him a lot, usually when they're alone and it's quiet, sometimes in public, and even on the rare occasions he manages to get her up in the morning before he goes to work. (After she growls at him and complains, naturally.) It's not enough to describe the depth of her feelings, though, and she lets her forehead rest against his, her eyes down, veiled by her lashes. "You are so important to me."
She sighs. That, too, feels good to say. It's so incredible to not have to censor herself because she's worried about sounding stupid or crazy or, God forbid, emotional.
"You need to finish that glass," she says, patting his chest as she rises, disentangling herself from him. "Then come to bed."