Page 38 of Lovesick
“I meant after the fire, but that too.”
Surprise registered on her face. “Oh, that.” Her expression fell. “Yeah ... I haven’t been thinking about it, to be honest.”
“Don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“No problem. I’ve also been thinking about what you said about romance. Care to spar on that?”
One fine eyebrow lifted in her porcelain, freckled face. “Oh? Do tell.”
“Do you think romance is a cover for something else?”
Her forehead furrowed in silent question.
“Like security,” I clarified as I grabbed my fork. “A relationship with romance is likely a more certain bet, right? Romance equates with effort and security. Maybe you look forward to the security romance brings.”
“So, are we talking about security, certainty, or effort?”
“Security.”
She chewed a bite of waffle, deep in thought. “You say it like they’re two different things. Can you separate security from romance?”
“Can you?”
Her eyes tapered. “No. I don’t think so. Security is an aspect of romance. As you pointed out yourself, there are other facets too. Certainty. Security. Effort. Romance is like a diamond.”
I had pointed that out, hadn’t I? Which wasn’t at all what I expected to do.
“Back to my original point,” I said as she dug into her waffle, then closed her eyes and moaned at the first bite. “Maybe it’s security you want more than romance.”
“If I wanted security, I’d buy a home security system.”
I cracked a smile. “Good try, but it’s different.”
“How?”
She was baiting me—I could feel it in the languid drawl of the question. But I had to rise to the occasion now, because I’d put the question out there.
“Romance comes from a person,” I said, “not a thing.”
“Disagree.”
“Really?”
“Romance comes from a book. From a movie. From someone cleaning a cabin really, really well and making sure there aren’t any spiders or mice.Thingscan be just as romantic as people. It’s like religion.” She sent me a vague look that I swore hid a smile as she forked another bite into her mouth.
My jaw dropped. “You have to be kidding. Cleaning your cabin and setting it up for you is not romantic.”
“Was to me.”
“But I didn’t mean it that way.”
She shrugged. “Still seemed romantic.”
My head whirled in a thousand directions. The greatest of which revolved around the question:Is Lizbeth looking for romance with me?
No, that was too ridiculous. We hardly knew each other. Regardless, somehow, I’d thoroughly flummoxed myself here. I’d have to come better prepared next time.
