But some small part of his heart lurched in sadness that he could only serve the physical. He didn’t have it in him to be more. He wasn’t prone to romance, or to the kind she wanted. He’d made a choice to live on the other side, and that was a damn good choice that had served him well, and protected him. He’d stand by it, come hell or high water. And since they didn’t see eye to eye on this front, it was best for their friendship, and their future, that they be able to do precisely what they were doing right now—safely return to the friend zone after a session in the lover’s lane. So he did what he’d done before, even if it pained him to bring up an ex.

“Did Scott tend to that side of you?”

She shrugged, a defeated look in her eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, he did. I mean, it’s not like he’s some paragon of how to be a good boyfriend, but he was attentive, and took me to dinner, and bought me flowers and gifts, and candy on Valentine’s Day. So really, it was clearly the other side of me he didn’t like. He didn’t like me in the bedroom.”

Nate’s jaw clenched. The guy was such an ass. “That’s not romantic,” he muttered.

She propped herself on her elbow. “Oh yeah, Mr. Not Romantic? Tell me what’s romantic then?”

“You think I’m not romantic just because I don’t get serious?”

She scrunched up the corner of her lips. “Well, kind of.”

He grabbed her hip, playfully pulling her closer. “I’ll have you know, Miss Casey, that I am excellent at buying flowers. I can whip out my platinum card like that,” he said, snapping his wrist and mimicking slapping down a plastic card. “I can also—wait for it—use that same card to buy gifts. In fact, I did,” he said, gesturing to the box.

“I know, and I liked your gift. But you know what I mean.”

“I can do candlelight dinners too. Let me tell you, the way I book a restaurant is inspired. Only to be topped by my ability to order champagne and have chocolate delivered on Valentine’s Day. ”

She held up her hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. You win. What is romantic to you then?”

“Romantic,” he said, lingering on the word as he stopped to finger a strand of her hair, “is taking care of a woman. It’s being attuned to her needs. It’s listening to her. It’s making her feel beautiful, inside and out, because she is. It’s knowing her favorite dish, and picking it up on the way home. It’s giving her your coat when she’s cold, and holding open the door, and it’s making sure she has everything she needs before a big meeting,” he said, and a flicker of recognition flashed in her mountain lake blue eyes.

It was as if they existed in a bubble right now, a sealed cocoon where they were dancing perilously close to admissions they should never make. The moment fueled him, spurring him on. “It’s knowing what matters to her, whether it’s her collection of kisses, or the way she likes to be kissed.”