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“Because I love you.”

Locke goes completely still.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His hand rests on the wet willow across his chest, and he looks at me as though I’ve given him something he needs time to understand.

“You do?”

“Yes.” Saying it should terrify me. Instead, something inside me loosens.

I move closer to the tub and rest my hand against the unbroken willow above the repair.

“I love you when you’re beside me. I love you when you go off and do something that has nothing to do with me. I love that you waited for me to speak today instead of deciding I needed saving. I love that you want a life of your own and still choose to make room for me in it.”

Locke covers my hand with his.

“Rachel.”

My breath catches at the tenderness in his voice.

He looks down at our hands, then back at me. “I love you too.”

The bathroom goes so quiet I can hear the water shifting around him.

“I love that you explain things when I ask and leave them alone when I don’t. I love that you make me laugh when I don’t understand why something is funny yet. I love that you were afraid today and told him no anyway.”

His fingers close more firmly around mine.

“And I love that you stopped being my whole world.”

That one surprises me. Locke sees it.

“Because now I know how much world there is.” His gaze stays on mine. “I want work. Friends. Things I haven’t seen yet. I want to go places without you.”

My throat tightens.

“And I still want to come home to you.”

Well. So much for not crying. The first tear slips free, and then another. I don’t bother wiping them away this time.

Locke reaches up and brushes one from my cheek with his thumb.

“I think I started loving you before I understood what love was,” he says. “But I understand it now.”

“What is it?”

He thinks about that.

“Choosing someone when you don’t have to.”

I close my eyes briefly, because that one goes straight through me. When I open them, he’s still there, his hand over mine.

“I love you,” I say again.

“I love you too.”

I stay beside the tub until I can breathe normally again, my hand still resting against the unbroken willow above the rhythm at his center.

After a minute, I draw my hand away. Locke picks up the last fresh strand and threads it through the damaged weave. When he tucks the end into place, only the smallest glimpse of gold remains beneath it.