It is, perhaps, even more relieving to have her in his arms like this than it was to see her standing over him and smiling. This close, Elvis can feel the beat of her pulse, each breath she draws in, and the reminders that she's alive mean the world to him. Right now, they seem even more miraculous than the moment she came back to life on his table. To lose her by showing up here would have been one thing, but to lose her like that -- it's more than he can imagine, and yet he can't stop imagining it at all, visions of her floating lifeless in water or lying motionless to be embalmed again without any chance of waking up this time filling his head. It makes him want to hold her closer, to not let go for a second, and he'd be legitimately tempted if it weren't for what she says next.

It's like she changes on a dime. Elvis should probably know to expect such things from Anabelle by now, but having been caught off-guard as it is, and still trying to process what she's just told him, the response leaves him feeling a little like he has whiplash, unsure which direction he ought to go in. What he does know, though, is how good this fees after all they've been through, after what they both almost did. What he also knows is that he does love her, more than he really even knows what to do with. It's just a matter of saying so, and on the heels of something like that, any weight his doing so might have had is lessened, enough to make him want to keep stalling.

"You love me too," he repeats, almost a question, tone just barely teasing, before he presses a kiss to her temple. "You're predictin' what I'm gonna say, now?"