It's such a familiar and comforting gesture to feel his thumb brush over her palm that her throat tightens and a few tears slip down her cheeks. Why does he have to be so perfect. He wasn't really, and she knew that, but he was perfect for her.

Turning toward him, she only gave him a second to see her crumpled expression before she tugged her hand from him so she could wrap her arms around him. Her grip was firm, he wasn't going anywhere until she let him, and after a few moments of silence she quietly decided, "Where are we going?"