Of course she loves him. The love she feels is true and pure but not at all with a lusty countenance. She'd found him when he was so young and she was merely stuck with this face she has now. There are no lines, no gray hairs except for the one that springs up nightly and which she plucks out but her mind is old, her opinions old, her fire old.
Miles is special. She'd do almost anything for him. She'd die for him without a thought. The same for Rebekah. It's probably the truest love she's ever known. A love that lifts her, makes her happy, gives the memories that she wants to relive in that drowsy place between awake and sleep.
When he says these dancing, poetic sentences she doesn't want to believe that they are directed romantically at her specifically. Denial is a powerful coping mechanism.
The moonflower sets its own moonflower smile in her expression and she kisses his cheek and takes the flower and sticks it in her hair.
"She was in good spirits then. Then I am relieved. I wanted to be here. I did. I just... nearly killed the Detective." She chews on her bottom lip. "I gave him a blood transfusion and was stuck in the daylight at his flat. He opened all the windows to keep me in a room. Maybe he'll stop coming now." She winks. There are no secrets between her and the two. Why should there be?