Whatever grasp he had on decorum is gone. She takes his hands, and a smile lights up his face in a way he can't remember feeling since he was a boy. This is absurd and surreal and right now, despite all his better judgement, he does not care.

"Alright," he agrees, voice low and warm. She's as close as she was last night, and the same desire to press his lips to hers stirs again. He doesn't want her to think his motivations are primarily carnal, but he is also aware such talk has not frightened her off. And -- if she really has not had that sort of warmth in her life, he thinks very deeply that she deserves to.

"In the spirit of confession, I would kiss you if you will allow it."