"I'm implying that spending time with you is something I do on purpose," Wilson says. "If you can believe that."

Why can't he make himself get to the point of what he really means now that he's here? This isn't how it works in the romance novels. He plows ahead anyway, hoping he'll get there somehow or other. He'll either find a way or die trying, like he usually does. "You clearly care a lot about my well-being, considering how you go to pieces when I die, and I wanted you to know that it's– reciprocated."