Warmth is all I feel. From my cheeks to my toes, I am drenched in it. It starts off slowly. The hand on my neck guides my lips to hers and the kiss is open-mouthed, but surprisingly still. She pulls my bottom lip between hers and it smacks back into place as I tilt my chin down, forcing space between our mouths. I need a moment to breathe. To process. What is happening. Is this happening. Did I just kiss my best friend. Did I just love it as much as I thought I might.

I keep my eyes closed as the tip of her nose trails up the side of mine, until her lips find the valley between my eyes. I lean into the kiss, pressed near my forehead. Her hand still rests gently behind my neck, and mine has found a fist of fabric from her button-up to grip.

"How did you know?" I say it to the backs of my eyelids. I am two seconds from collapsing into her embrace, and I hope that she is two seconds from catching me.

As though she can hear my thoughts, her hands move to my waist and clamp behind my back. Our hips and stomachs press together. I finally open my eyes to catch her shake her hair out to the side, the way she does when she's impressed with herself.

"Two things," she says. "One? I'm a Detective."

I lift my arms to rest on her shoulders. "You can't credit everything good you do to the fact that you're a detective. I think it's the other way around, actually. You are a detective because you have certain skill sets."

"You haven't heard Number Two yet." Her eyes bounce around my face.

I am using every ounce of control in my body not to kiss her again.

"Do you want to hear it?"

All I can do is nod.

She takes a deep breath. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

Her fingers flex into my lower back, holding me in place as she leans in. "First I need to…"

And the kiss, this time, is the opposite of the first. Crashing. Hectic. Like maybe if we don't do it all right now, we'll be tortured with four inches between our faces for the rest of our lives.

Her lips ground me. The mingling of our wine-soaked exhales sync as we give and take, fumbling for control.

I am tingling everywhere. I am floating. My hands move to her face in an attempt to taste more, and when my arms move so do hers. My blouse slips up my back. Cool palms press flat against the expanse.

She breaks the kiss suddenly, and I try in vain not to whimper.

"Oh, my god," she whispers in a higher pitch than usual.

"What?" I exhale, staring at her lips.

"I've never heard anything so hot in my entire life. I wanna carry you to bed right now—"

I am nodding vigorously.

"But I want to tell you first."

My thumb traces her swollen lower lip. "Tell me what?"

She tilts her head and pivots her torso back from her hips. "Did you forget already?"

I shrug. I haven't forgotten—but as much as I love listening to Jane talk, I am discovering that I love making out with her even more. "Can we do both?"

"Is this a special skirt?"

I look down, confused by the change of topic. "All my skirts are special."

"Okay, let's walk. We'll save carrying for another day." She physically spins me around and, with her hands on my back, guides me to the bedroom.

We're the only ones home, but she closes the door anyway; who knows when Angela will helicopter hover herself into my bedroom. I sit with my legs pulled onto the bed, knees pressed together to one side, ankles tucked near the edge of the bed. Jane sits cross-legged facing me. She puts her hands palms-up on the duvet between us. I watch her scars flex as she wiggles her fingers, and then I slip my hands into hers. We sit in silence for a minute, finally letting ourselves look at each other the way we've wanted to for… for a long time. When Jane finally speaks, her voice is low and controlled, like maybe this is something she has thought about before, and I let my eyes traverse her lips, her cheek bones, the waves in her hair, the slant of her shoulders, the concaves between her wrist flexors. I drink her in.

"You once asked me if I had ever gone to the Musée d'Orsay and sat and stared for hours. You said that you used to. You said you were in awe of what human beings could do. And I hadn't ever done that. I hadn't even been there before. I had no idea what you were talking about, and I'm pretty sure I changed the subject."

I smile. "I wouldn't be surprised."

She narrows her eyes at me.

"Go on," I laugh softly.

"Thank you. Anyway, I remembered it. It stuck with me." Her eyes drop to our hands, which are dancing with each other. "The point is that before you came around, I thought I was livin' the life, you know? I was stopping crime, catching bad guys. On that first day, when I finally got homicide and I walked down to that morgue where you were knuckle-deep in a corpse, I had no idea how much I had been missing. Before then, I had had no reason to go and sit and stare at anything for hours. But then there was you. And you were… you were…" Her eyes meet mine. She shrugs. "You. And you baffled me, and you frustrated me, and good lord you drove me crazy sometimes, but I never… I never wanted to stop learning. Learning you.

"And, Maur." She shifts closer, so her fingers can trace up my wrists.

My eyes well as warmth spreads up my arms and into my chest and threaten to spill out my tear ducts.

"No, please don't cry."

"These are happy tears, Jane." I lift one of her hands in mine and drag her knuckles across my cheek. I sniffle. "Please, go on."

She gives me her sad smile. "Okay. Well. What I'm trying to say is that I… I have spent every day of the past four years observing the most beautiful creation on this planet. And maybe you don't get hives anymore when you lie. Maybe I'm a bad influence on you in that way. Or maybe I've just got you a little bit figured out. But you are the first mystery that has me completely entangled, completely enthralled, completely… in love." She pauses, makes eye contact. "The first. Ever.

"So… how did I know?" She shrugs again. "I just know you, Maur. With every fiber of my being, I feel like I know you."

My cheeks are wet with tears. "How about with every electron?"

She laughs, "Yeah, that too."

And as she laughs, I reach my hands to either side of her face and pull until she has to lean so far that she gives in and straddles me. But instead of guiding my lips to hers, I nuzzle my nose to her ear and whisper, "I love you, too."

How ironic it is, I think, as I watch with adoring eyes, Jane tugging my skirt from my hips and delicately folding it onto the floor, that this journey should both begin and end with indomitable heat—flames leaping to the heavens, begging for more.