Okay, so I need to wrap my head around this concept of doing something simple. I’ve gone out of my way to show this girl how the rich and famous lead their lives and she asks for this.

I scratch my head.

But, of course, I agreed to her request. I mean, what else could I do? I want to spoil this girl and make each and every one of her dreams come true.

Her wish should be my command.

It’s easy for me. I’ve got the backing. She wants to look at the beach? No problem. I whisk her away to one of my resorts and make sure she gets a view of the beach—her own private beach.

If she wants a ride on a helicopter, no worries. I can arrange anything money can buy.

Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds are easy to purchase. Vacations to any destination can be arranged, as can any mode of transportation―from expensive sports cars to a horse-drawn carriage, if that’s what her heart desires.

Of course, a trip around the world or a visit to a five-star restaurant would all be a piece of cake.

And boy, have I dated some girls with demands. Actually, demands is probably the wrong word. More like expectations.

Let me be the first to tell you, women have fucking high expectations of men, particularly men with money.

About three girlfriends ago, I was asked if I could arrange a meet-and-greet with some famous singer I had never even heard of.

When Rose asked me earlier today for a favor, I was expecting a list of requests from meeting Hollywood superstars to buying her a diamond ring and a fucking Ferrari.

But Rose asked for nothing like that. She wants simple.

I can’t fucking believe I’m thinking this, but Rose is definitely the marrying kind. The kind who takes joy in the simple, everyday things in life. The kind who wants a baby.

A family.

And I’m even more shocked to admit that I’m on the same fucking page.

I watch her as she’s curled up into a little ball, fast asleep. Her chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

She looks peaceful and happy. Maybe she’s dreaming about tomorrow already. If only I had a clue what a simple day really means.

I don’t want to ask her. I don’t want her to think I’m a complete idiot who doesn’t know how to treat a woman on a date. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.

I sigh.

I guess hiring a private yacht with a personal crew and chef to take us sailing wouldn’t be classified as simple. It’s just a guess, but I think I’m fucking dead right about that one.

What about hiring a private guide to take us on a luxury cruiser—no, I’m pretty sure Rose would not call that simple.

My head hurts from all the thinking I’m doing.

Rose mumbles something in her sleep. I can’t make out specific words, but I imagine she’s saying my name and showering me with compliments.

I’m surprised at myself. I find it interesting that I will go to great lengths to impress this girl. I mean, this is turning into hard fucking work.

And I’m completely game for it.

And I’m impressed Rose is asking me to tone things down. Human nature and my own experience dictate that people want more.

Once the carrot of luxury and what money can do for you is dangled in front of someone’s nose, their appetite is piqued, and they can’t get enough of what they once only dreamed of.

Clueless as to what ‘simple’ thing we can do tomorrow, I do the only thing anyone would do in my situation. I consult Dr. Google. Sure enough, after I type in simple things to do on a date, it takes less than two seconds for three hundred and fifteen billion results to appear.

I scroll through the results, scanning the headlines.

Fifty Fun Things to Do on a Budget

One Hundred and One Ideas to Do With Your Date if you Have no Money

Twenty-five Ways to Impress Your Date on a Shoestring Budget

I cringe at each and every one of those headlines. I don’t want to read about things to do with Rose on a budget. There’s no budget to stick to. My budget is, well, it’s whatever I fucking want it to be.

But her words buzz around my head like bees in a bottle looking for the way out.

After taking a deep breath, I open one of the promoted websites.

The picture of a couple strolling along the beach, hand-in-hand, catches my eye. They look like they’re walking into the sunset.

I scroll through the list of cheap things to do. The suggestions range from walking hand-in-hand to browsing a second-hand bookstore or visiting an art gallery.

I can’t see how any of those things will appeal to Rose. They’re too simple.

With a sigh, I click onto another site.

Surprise, surprise. It’s another suggestion for walking along the beach holding hands, going on a picnic. Visiting local bric-a-brac shops, making a fire outside and toasting marshmallows, and visiting a park to feed the ducks. Fucking seriously?

I frown. Were these people for real? Who writes this shit? I want to spoil Rose and impress her, not bore her to tears.

The longer I search on the world-wide-web, the more confused I get. One thing’s for sure—the most common piece of advice is that walking hand-in-hand on the beach thing―or anywhere for that matter, as long as it’s fucking hand-in-hand.

I’m not convinced, but I vow to give it a go tomorrow. I promised we’d do something simple, and I never renege on a promise.

The next morning, I’m prepared to put my research to the test. There’s something else I found out about Rose when I did some online research on her after we first met.

“Morning, my beautiful Rose,” I greet her, holding a breakfast tray.

Rose yawns, stretches, and blinks a few times. Her nose wrinkles a little as she sniffs the air.

“Mmmm,” she begins, “what do I smell?”

“I’m glad you asked.” I put the tray down to show her what I prepared. “Black coffee, toast, and sausage.”

I want to say, I hope this is simple enough for you, but I bite my tongue just in time.

Instead, I say, “I kind of did a little research on you and saw you like sausage.” I hesitate when I feel those large cinnamon eyes on me. “I…um…I assume you like this kind of sausage,” I point to the cooked sausage on the plate, “and not this one.” I point to my groin.

Rose bursts out laughing. It’s a belly laugh, the kind that has her doubled over, holding her abdomen.

Hearing her laugh makes me feel good, makes me feel like I’ve achieved something.

There are tears streaming down her face, and she wipes them away.

“Oh, Daniel.” She’s trying to catch her breath. “What can I say?” She grins, and it’s a wicked one, like a drink that I want to fucking drown in. “I like them both. But I like the sausage to eat, and yours…well, you know where I like yours.”

A glow sparks in me and quickly grows into a flame.

We eat breakfast in bed and laugh and joke about all sorts of things.

“So, what are we going to do today?” When she’s finished eating, she curls up, cradling her cup of coffee and staring at me expectantly.

For a few seconds, I’m so mesmerized by her that I forget what she asked.

“Um, yes. Today. I thought we’d do something simple before we head home in the late afternoon.” I can’t understand why I’m suddenly acting like a fucking teenage boy who has never talked to a girl before.

“Sounds good.” Rose leans forward and gives me a little kiss on the nose. “I’ll go and freshen up.”

It’s a slow start to the day, which suits me. I’m still a little uncomfortable with this simple day concept.

When Rose is finally ready to leave the room, we head outside. She looks at me expectantly.

I lace our fingers together, and I see her steal a glance at me.

With a deep breath, I take a step toward the beach.

“I thought we’d simply go for a walk today. Look at the water, collect some shells and,” I hesitate, “you never know, build a sand castle.”

With a confidence I don’t feel, I start to walk. To my surprise, she falls in step with me and grips my hand a little tighter.

As we stroll along the edge of the water, me holding Rose’s hand, I catch her looking at me in wonder from time to time, and it makes me feel like a million fucking dollars.

Looks like this simple thing isn’t so hard after all. And as we walk on the edge of the water, the waves lapping at our feet, I think it’s actually not a bad way to spend a date.

I feel very proud of myself, like I really achieved something today. I have this insatiable desire to prove to Rose that I can be anything she wants me to be.

I don’t understand it. I’ve never felt like this about any woman before, and I’m suddenly really fucking glad I went into that tea shop…