Ford shrugged lightly, as if to say well, you've found me out. "No, I suppose I haven't." It seemed like the right sort of response, even if he'd never claimed to have been in love, in this conversation or otherwise.

Looking back down at the diary, he thumbed to another page. He was curious to see if it was all poetry, or if some of it was actually about the man's work, since his wife had apparently wanted to sell it as research notes. When he skimmed another page, though, his cheeks immediately flushed dark red. That was not what he'd been expecting — it was quite explicit and had sent his insides to fluttering nervously. "I don't think he would have wanted strangers reading this," Ford pointed out, trying to hand the diary back to the other man.