"Yes."

"Well, that. You. That. Well," she stutters, ineffectually. Then she decides that words aren't going well, so she instead kisses him.

He approves of kisses, they are an appropriate substitute for words.

Good. She'd hate to disappoint. She thinks she's really starting to get the hang of this 'kissing' thing. Behold, how she has even figured out how to breathe while kissing! This means the kissing can go on longer.

Eventually:

"S-so what's," she breathes, face flushed and eyelids fluttering, "what's typical vampire life like? In the day to day? I-I get the, the abilities and the bloodthirst and the immortality but like, what. What does your typical life look like?"

He ponders, while looking at her. "It depends on the vampire. I spent the past few decades travelling around, meeting people, seeing new places. I went to dentist school for a while there, too." He shrugs. "Whatever you want."

"Hm. Okay. I don't... quite know what that'll equate to for me, yet. I couldn't stay in Lancaster, maybe even England, so I'd be quitting my job, not that I mind that part. With perfect memory, schooling of some kind seems like it'd be the smartest early investment. Probably something related to biology, to figure out some kind of replacement for blood..." she trails off thoughtfully. "I suppose maybe I do have some idea of what that would equate to me, don't I."

He laughs that musical bell-like laughter that she will presumably also gain when she's a vampire and preternaturally beautiful. "You seem to have it all figured out, from what I can tell."

She snorts. "Not all. Not just yet. Sorry to disappoint."

"You could never, my dear."

"You," she murmurs, before she loses track of her words and gently presses a kiss to his jaw. "You're. That's. You're ridiculously in love with me."

"Took you long enough to notice."

She snorts and raises her eyebrows.

"You're covered in lipstick," she says, instead of that other less nice thing that she could say, along the lines of and whose fault is that? She does not particularly want to say that after having just spent an extended period of time kissing him.

"Do you have a handkerchief or something, I have one in my purse, but it's, um." She pauses, then starts investigating her surroundings. She sort of forgot them, what with the kissing. Her purse is easy to locate; abandoned casually next to the flowers. "Over there, which is very far away." It's really not.

He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and easily wipes the lipstick off. "Makeup has a hard time sticking to vampire skin," he says, once he's unblemished again.

"Really? That's a pity. But I do suppose the texture would be different." She reaches up to experimentally pat his cheek, then flushes and looks away. The spell of casual physical intimacy seems to have ended, the prospect of immediately resuming kissing him doesn't really appeal, anymore.

That's fine by him. "It's more than made up for, trust me."

"How?" she murmurs, the dangerous word tumbling from her lips before she thinks to snap them shut.

"—shit, no, I'm sorry," she says in a rush, wincing. "I didn't mean to—sometimes my mouth goes ahead of my brain and I'm sorry."

"—uh...?"

She winces again, guilt flooding her heart, she did not mean to say that, and it probably hurt him very much—

—but if she buys into his story and imagines her perfect partner, it would hurt him so much more to recant and stop talking and keep all of her thoughts to herself. It'd be a truly damning admission of a lack of trust. That's not what a relationship should be like. She's sincere about trying to maybe date the vampire, and that involves talking about her feelings to him.

So instead of saying she didn't mean that, she tries to clarify what she did mean.

"I. Y-you dwarf me in age and experience and power," she says, to her lap. "I wrote to my brother to corroborate your story, but it'll be weeks before I get a reply. From an, an outside perspective, you could. Be making up whatever you like, say all the things I want to hear with your century of practice at w-wooing women, win your way into my heart and my bed to prove you can, and I don't mean to say I think this of you, but I don't know how to. To not be frightened and not worry about what some theoretical vampire could theoretically do and just trust you."

"—oh."

Yvette scrunches inward and presses four little crescents into each palm with her fingernails, before she realizes that this could result in open blood and that she's near a vampire. Instead she folds her hands together where they will safely not accidentally draw blood in a fit of guilt and angst.

"I'm sorry," she adds, again, because that seems important to say.

"I—no—you should not be sorry. It's my fault for even giving you that impression in the first place. I—" And he seems to run out of words.

"You've been nothing but sweet and thoughtful since you realized you were in magical vampire love with me," she defends. "A lot of this is leftovers from the shitty introduction and, realistic acknowledgement of the power disparity that doesn't have anything to do with anything you've actually done, and, and a general fear of getting my heart broken."

"Oh, Yvette, I would never—not on purpose—"

"I'm sorry, I—" she doesn't say she knows, because she doesn't, because the whole problem is that she doesn't completely trust him and doesn't know how to start, so instead she goes with, "I'm not trying to accuse you of mistreating me or being callous or using me or. I'm just. I'm scared. Because what if I believe you and then I'm wrong?"

"I—I'm sorry—how can I—" He makes an aborted gesture to hug her and looks indecisive.