He holds the first book out to me, and I clasp it on reflex. He murmurs, “I love you.” My heart panics. Plucking another book free, he sets it on top of the other in my hands, and I realize it—like the last—is one of the books I admired on our first date. When his fingers release it, he says, “I love you.” “Le—” “I love you.” He adds another book. “Levi.” Another book, another whisper. “I love you.” “Levi, you built me a library?”
