“In all different kinds of ways.” He smiles, like this is a secret he’s kept, him counting my I love yous. “Like when you kiss me, and you linger for a minute to kiss the scar by my lip. Or when you retrace the smiley faces on our palms. Or when you take your thumbs”—he takes my hands and moves my thumbs under his eyes; I run my fingers under there on instinct and he sighs happily—“and do that. Or when you tell me you love me, then show me exactly how much.”
