“Probably not for myself.” Pulling free, she headed down the hill.

“Wait,” he said to that sweet ass. “So you’re saying you don’t want a happily ever after? I thought all women wanted that.”

“Fairy tales don’t exist in real life,” she said over her shoulder.

He had pretty much seen and done it all. Sure, he was a little cynical, a little jaded, but in that moment, he realized he’d met his match. “Wow.”

She sent him a questioning look over her shoulder.

“You mean it. You really don’t believe in love.”

“And you do? Have you ever been in love?”

“With baseball, just about all my life.”

“With something that loved you back,” she said dryly.

“I don’t know, baseball’s showed me the love.”

“Women, Pace,” she said with a shake of her head. “You ever loved a woman?”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “Maybe a couple of times. I was even engaged once when I was very young and stupid. But if we’re being honest, that wasn’t the forever kind of love either.”

“Are there two kinds of love then?”

“There are lots of kinds.”

At that, she stopped walking to face him, hands on her hips, expression amused. “Okay, Mr. Expert, like what?”

“Well, there’s the love that hits you after a few drinks and laughs, the one that says take this woman to bed for the rest of the night.”

Her mouth curved. “That’s lust.”

True. “Then there’s the kind after you’ve already slept together and you’re still not over it. That kind of love takes several dates to get over.”

“Again. Lust.”

“Man, you really are a cynic,” he murmured. “How about when you’re with the same person for a while, a long while, and you still want to be with them naked? What’s that?”

“A rut.”

He laughed. “Okay, smarty pants, what constitutes love then?”

She lifted her nose in the air and started walking again, somehow in spite of the game, the kissing, the hike, the stalker, still looking completely, carefully put together. “I’ll have to let you know,” she finally said.

“Maybe you should write a series on that.”

She smiled at him as they came to the now nearly empty parking lot. “Interesting idea.” She looked around. They’d missed the mass exodus. “Do you think she’s gone?”

“Tia? Hard to tell.” His car was in the front row, in one of the reserved spots in all its apple red glory, but he passed by it, intending to walk Holly to her car. “Where did you park?”

“All the way in the back.”

They hoofed it out there, and she came to a stop in front of her beat-up Subaru.

“You need a better-paying job,” he said.

“Hey, this baby explored the ghost towns of California and lived to tell the tale. I can’t dump her now just because she’s not pretty.”