“I’ll always be here, Luce. I’m yours,” he breathed, squeezing my hands, “forever.”

“See? That’s it,” he said, waving his hand. “That’s part of what makes us so great, Luce. I’m crazy. You’re crazy. Together, we make our own brand of crazy.”

“I could hold you prisoner here for the rest of the day and list everything I love about you, but that’s only half of it,” he explained, turning toward me. “The other half is something I can’t put into words. Something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. It’s something that ties me to you, and you to me. Call it chemistry, call it fate, call it whatever you want. All I know is that I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, Luce. That’s the surest thing I’ve ever known.”

“You've had time, Luce. I've given you your space." he said, the bed moaning as he stood. "I've aged fifty years in three weeks' time because I did my part and stayed away from you. But now you're here. And maybe you're not here because of me, but either way, you couldn't stay away.”

“I’m cancer, Luce. And not the kind that you can kill off with radiation. The kind that kills you in the end.”

“don’t make me walk back without being beside you, holding your hand.” He lowered one arm from my waist to draw my hand to his lips. “I’ve lived for two hundred years with only the imagination of what it would be like to touch this,”—he moved my hand over his mouth, kissing each knuckle—“to hold this . . .” When my breath became weak, he lowered it from his lips, but kept it firmly in his hand. “Please allow me to escort you back to the house?”

“So you planned this? The whole time we were together, you were scheming some way to screw up royally so I'd leave you alone?" "No, Luce," he said, grabbing my hand back. "So I'd leave you alone.”