There's a part of her--- the part of her running away from that fragile idea of love and home that she'd found in the arms of a widower twice her age, the part that fled the home of a manipulative ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night with research notes in tow, the part that watched the man who once lovingly called her "Salamander" disappear forever with an assurance that it's nothing personal--- that expects him to tell her that he's not cut out for this. Better luck next time.

But he doesn't. Oh, God. He doesn't say that at all. Sally almost can't believe what she's hearing.

He's choosing her.

She chokes up, throwing her arms around him as the floodgates crack, and hugs him tightly. Her frame is tiny against his.

"Of course I will," she murmurs shakily. "I love you. Oh my god, I love you."