Husband has an idea of what is "romantic," which for him seems to mean putting on a show, a special effort. The breakfasts he makes are an everyday romantic that have not yet become so routine as to not be special. Perhaps that will happen in time.

Sometimes we camp overnight when something we want to gather is far away. That usually means a campfire, and a heated alembic to make tea, and perhaps some cider while looking at stars and listening to beastkin and other night noises. Then burrowing into a sleeping bag together before a day spent mining or harvesting.

Less often do we go to places like restaurants, partly because our evenings are usually spent working, and partly because we do not have much money at a time. The money depends on how many pretzels and pies we sell, and how many leves Sam can give us, and whether there is anything in particular we need to buy.

But sometimes we have money and we do not have need for it right away and we can get a free evening, usually on Sunday. Last night was one of those, and Husband had an idea for it. So we took the bus to Tulsa.

We ate at a restaurant Husband called "italian," which had a lot of noodles and sauces and cheese. I think making italian food will need a lot of recipes, for the noodles and all the sauces, especially the one Husband likes called "pesto." I am not certain how we would craft "gelato."

After dinner, we went to something Husband had researched called a "hackney carriage," which looked like chocobo-drawn carriages in Eorzea, except pulled by a horse. The carriage was small, with a seat for the driver and a seat behind that only looked big enough for two people. We climbed into the back, and the driver gave us a blanket, since the evenings in Oklahoma had started to get chilly.

We hackneyed across Tulsa, huddled together under the blanket, seeing all the lights on the buildings and hanging across the streets, the people at restaurants in bars and walking on the sidewalks. We heard music coming from some of the buildings. All the time we also heard the clop-clop sound of the horse and the rattle of the wooden wheels on the street.

There are times I remember all the fighting I did in Eorzea, the times when I was almost nothing but a warrior. Those times fill me with a desire to pound at the striking dummies we have made at our workshop. But resting my head against Husband's, sharing warmth under the blanket, was one of the times I could forget the fighting for a little while and simply be what I am now, whatever that is.

I think I like Husband's definition of "romantic."