"I can get behind that." Amber dimpled; the more she thought of Eric’s rereading of chivalry, the better it sounded. Him fussing over her coat was a way of showing off: she got to boast she had him draped all over her, and he got to wordlessly declare who was letting him give her royal queen treatment. And even if she considered having someone else dress her ridiculous, others wished for that practice; good, they could envy her all the more. "Even if it is the Victorian equivalent of PDA."

She drew the line at having doors opened for her, though. And, perhaps having read her mind, Eric didn't reach out for the restaurant door, or the car's. Though-- mind reading! Next she'd be thinking they were born for each other, or calling them soul mates. Was that what relationships did, wrap otherwise rational people around goofy, cheesy clichés?

Amber shivered when Eric parted to go over to his side and clambered quickly into her seat. Having just kicked in, heaters hadn't warmed the car, but at least she'd be protected from the wind. She reached out for his thigh-- not for the warmth, not to be sexy, but simply because she wanted to touch him. Their next destination was too long a wait to hold back.

"Actually, yeah, I do," she said, surprise bleeding into her voice. She'd forgotten that small practical matter. Apparently to the cliché list she could add, 'forgetting reality.' "Unless you have clothes at home that fit and look good on me."