The evening before the M.E.S.S. happened...

And as they sat there on the settee by the second floor bay window, they knew that their hearts and souls were one, that they'd always be together, that even the largest distance between them could be crossed with just a wave of a fingertip. The pair smalled of nutmeg, their calves sore with domesticity. The day had seen several batches of scones, freshly-made candles for the windows, a full laundering of the sheets in all of the rooms, and an old-fashioned scrubbing of the front steps, clearing the moss away so that customers wouldn't slip.
Their life together was never quiet, as Paula was always hollering about something, and the sound of a broom swishing was just as natural as the sound of footsteps on a busy street. But it was good all the same, because they were a team, and when they were together, the world somehow felt right. Paul knew that their love was unique, unfound in any other heart in this world, or the next. Paula knew that she was lucky, for she had a husband that was not afraid to cross mountains for her, and who enjoyed cooking supper just as much as she did.
"Paul?"
"Yes, my love?" They were looking out over the purple London sky, the sky that never quite found it's midnight darkness, as the gas lamps ensured that the city enjoyed an eternal glow, warming the cold hearts of it's citizens. The stars were soft, but ever-present, and the moon watched over everything as if hiding behind a shroud of lavender silk, keeping a motherly distance from it's chaotic child.
Paula paused, and turned her face towards the other houses along their street, their roofs an industrial brown, with the every other window orange with candlelight. She could hear a horse clopping it's way down the street on which their inn sat. Who was it escorting? A wealthy man, perhaps? The owner of the wax museum, maybe. He seemed a wordly-enough man to travel by horse. Or perhaps it was a lady who occupied the carriage. Paula pictured her with her petticoats and frills, occasionally unfolding her fan to displace the stagnant city air that had settled in front of her delicate nostrils. Paula longed to wear pretty things, or to mix with the wealthy, or even to be on the run, romantically escaping danger with every rising moon.
"I want to travel someday. And do great things."
Paul sighed, and wrapped his arms further around her shoulders. His cup of tea sat on the small table beside the settee, growing uncaringly cooler as the night deepened.
"That would be nice, wouldn't it," he replied.
"Paul, it's not just a dream. Someday I will find it: the sparkle, the excitement, the wind on my face, the fire in my heels..."
"You may see those things in your future, darling, but I must tell you that I already have them in my present. Every single day is fresh and new, and with every one of your smiles, I feel like I am standing on top of the world, with the wind of the heavens driving me onward."
At this, Paula took a quick inhale, and then slowly let it out as her bright eyes softened to match the glow of the room. She looked into his eyes, and shifted her ring finger to better hold his hand. She had never asked him to love her. She had never really asked him for anything, and it was at this moment that she began to feel the damp guilt that lovers often know too well. She had done very little to warrant a life such as this. He treated her like a princess, coating the ground of her world in rose petals, as to keep every one of her steps soft and beautiful. Every word he spoke sounded as if it were from the street up to her balcony, proclaiming his undying love. She, however, was a busy body, ordering him around, always with a little touch of flour in her hair, and often too tired for sentiment. And even then did he make her feel beautiful.
She did love him more than words could say. This did not calm her, though. Unexpressed emotion could be perfect for some, but she wanted the words. She wanted a painting, a song, a torn out page from a dictionary, anything that could concretely say that she loved him just as much as he loved her, if not more. She would find it, too. It was certain, just as she knew she would find her life of adventure. Not yet, though. For life was far too young to be jumping through flames just yet, and there were still far too many muffins that needed to be taken out of the oven.