The truth is she's not sure what to say because what she wants to say is still kind of terrifying to her. It's not just the dinner on the roof or the flowers or the flamingo, it's not anything in particular, it's everything, and as she takes a sip of her champagne, she watches him over the rim of her glass for a moment. She knows she can talk and talk and talk when maybe it's less important, when it doesn't mean as much, but right now, the only thing she wants to say to him is maybe still a little too much. It would mean a lot and even though he's not the first guy she's been in love with, it feels different, and she's afraid to say it and not hear it back.

Which is stupid. If she feels it, she should damn well say it and if he doesn't say it back, then at least he knows it. She's always wanted people to know what she thinks and what she feels, or at least she's always thought she does. When it comes down to it, she's still wearing some kind of shield, something to keep herself from getting hurt.

She sets her glass down and picks up her utensils, glancing up again when he says he should be thanking her. She's trying to cut into the chicken, but it's sort of hard when she's watching him speak and actually listening for what feels like the first time in her life. "I wouldn't go back either," she tells him. That part is easy to say, she's known that for ages already. "Back to the island or back to Kansas and I know I don't have anything waiting for me like you do, but I still... I wouldn't."