Annie hasn't felt this happy in a long time. L.L is so good to her that the events that happened seem so distant. It's a shame they didn't meet sooner. She likes their little fantasies about being each other's firsts for a reason. She would erase the bad and replace it with moments like this.

"That's beautiful." She smiles up at him as they walk. "I don't recognize the poet.... unfortunately, I was never a big romance fan. I like spooky things."

Emily Dickinson. He wouldn't know her.

"Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—"

It felt like something better than Poe. Edgar Allan Poe, in Annie's opinion, is just too dramatic for what she wants.