Well sure, but Betty could have brought it up with actual words before this point too. And she didn't, and then she still didn't. It's a first for her - people read her as interested when she isn't, and she's never had a case in reverse. For someone she had a violent crush on who almost certainly liked her back, it should have been written like lights in the sky. It felt like the most obvious thing every time they were together, even when it was also the most comfortable thing. Who, given half a chance, wouldn't fall madly in love with Ruth? Brilliant and clueless Ruth. She's so cute. She's so cute, and Betty could die.

"Hey- ," we still have the rest of our lives - but that's a little much, isn't it? A little fast and a little much. Betty knows about oxytocin too. About neurotransmitters flooding the brain and hormones flooding the blood, about the chemical cocktail of happiness. That's what she's really thinking about: happiness, and whether she can spin with Ruth in her arms fast enough for them to float off the ground. She feels like dancing, so she does, swaying them both artlessly to the pulse of delight fluttering inside her rib cage, under streetlamps on an empty path in the middle of a beautiful beginning.

Again, more softly, "Hey. I'd wait twice this long for you. Ten times as long. But I'm glad I didn't have to." Maybe the second kiss is less sudden than the first. Maybe. At least both parties are forewarned.