He was in love. It wasn’t a shocking statement; he didn’t recoil in surprise. It was the answer to a question he hadn’t been quite aware he was asking, and now that it was here, it was like it had always been true: a quiet, permanent underlying fact that made everything else in his life make sense. He saw it and acknowledged it, even with the whisper that told him being in love with a woman like Alva was going to complicate things. There was nothing to be done—he was in love with her, he always would be, and that was that. She was his person. If she was complicated, then he loved her
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