“I have something I need to tell you,” he says. I run my fingers along the tendons in his hands and look back at him. “I might be in love with you.” He smiles a little. “I’m waiting until I’m sure to tell you, though.” 
“That’s sensible of you,” I say, smiling too. “We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something.” 
I feel his laughter against my side, his nose sliding along my jaw, his lips pressing my ear. 
“Maybe I’m already sure,” he says, “and I just don’t want to frighten you.” 
I laugh a little. “Then you should know better.” 
“Fine,” he says. “Then I love you.” 
― Veronica Roth, Divergent