The last things we said to one another before the lingering kiss (I did not catch his cold; in his defense he tried to stop me from kissing him and I finally had to take him by surprise, since among his cheekbones, the beer, and him telling me he was a top he was not escaping unkissed) and the walking away with a chest full of hope and joy were:
CHARLES: So. . . what do we do now.
EMILY: We should, um, plan something. (Beat) I'll call you tomorrow.
CHARLES: You mean. . . really plan. . . something. . . (Not a question)
Emily nods, and kisses him (lingeringly), and walks away. . . .
For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.