A/N: Doing something a little different with this chapter. Otherwise, it would be very short and repetitive. As it is, it's longer than some of my one-shots. I'm sure you're all disappointed.

La Petite Soleil – the Little Sun

Grimaldi's Pizzeria is a real place, and it's really in Brooklyn. And it is the best pizza in the world.

Additional A/N at the end.

Chapter 7: Romantic

"Romance is dead. It was acquired in a hostile takeover by Hallmark and Disney, homogenized, and sold off piece by piece."

- Lisa Simpson

Lindsay Monroe's Perfect Guy:

7. He must be romantic.

Colt and Lindsay were not yet officially a couple, though they had been 'dating' for much of the summer. Lindsay didn't want to start telling people they were together until she had some kind of proof. Her friends would never believe that they were boyfriend and girlfriend unless there was some tangible evidence. Everyone knew they had gone out on dates, but they hadn't declared themselves exclusive yet.

It was early August – a beautiful night in Montana. It had been a warm day, but there was a bit of a breeze, making the air chilly. Colt told Lindsay to make sure she dressed warm for their date, and she was just finishing getting ready when he knocked on the front door. She bade her father good night and followed Colt down the sidewalk to his beat-up truck in the drive.

He opened the door for her, but it took quite an effort to haul herself into the truck. She wasn't short, but Colt had switched out the truck's regular wheels for monster wheels. She told him once or twice that she needed some sort of stepladder to get in, but he just laughed it off.

She asked, again, where they were going, but he just shook his head. "It's a surprise," he said.

They ended up in the middle of Collins Field – a large, empty patch of land on the back of the Collins' property where the neighborhood kids liked to play baseball and soccer in the summer and football in the fall. She just looked at Colt when she saw where he was headed; they weren't official yet, and Collins Field was where a lot of couples came to…park.

Colt threw the truck in park and hopped out. He scrambled over to the passenger side and helped Lindsay down from her seat. Then he made his way to the bed of the truck and climbed over the side. Her jerked his head at her, indicating that she come around to the side. "C'mere."

When she was close enough, he began handing things to her – a couple of blankets, a picnic basket, some candles… She stared at each item in shock as he pulled them from the truck's storage compartment. "What's all this?"

He smiled at her. "We're having a picnic."

He spread the blankets out on the ground, then gently took the picnic basket from her and began to unpack it. The picnic basket, Lindsay discovered, contained not only plates and utensils, but also Colt's idea of a feast – peanut butter sandwiches, sodas, a bag of chips, and a package of oatmeal raisin cookies. Lindsay was so touched by the gesture that she didn't bother to point out that she hated oatmeal and raisins, and therefore thought them to be a sorry excuse for a cookie.

The picnic basket also contained a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers, which Lindsay recognized as having come from the patch by the side of her driveway. Colt handed these to Lindsay with a grin as he set up their 'table.'

He set the candles on top of the now-closed basket and lit them with the lighter he always kept in his pocket, then gestured that she have a seat on the blanket. They ate their dinner in near silence. Lindsay was too nervous to say anything; she was almost too nervous to eat, but she choked down her sandwich and soda with an uncomfortable smile. She knew what coming to Collins Field signaled, and she knew she wasn't ready for that. She'd told Colt that she wouldn't…do…that…until she was ready.

When they had both eaten, and the plates and silverware had been packed away, Colt shuffled closer to her. "Look up," he said.

She did. Collins Field was in the middle of nowhere – far from the lights of town. The sky was a blue-black, and the stars had come out to play. It was a clear night, and she could see into eternity. She leaned backward, the better to stare, and ended up flat on her back on the blanket. Colt stretched out beside her.

"I know you like, you know, science and stuff," Colt said, gesturing at the sky with a sweep of his arm. "I read in the paper that there's some meteor shower tonight, and – "

Lindsay lolled her head to the side to look at him. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. He met her gaze, and she captured his lips in a chaste kiss, then snuggled closer to him.

They watched the sky for a while, pointing out when they happened to see a falling star. Eventually, Lindsay draped her arm over Colt's chest, but her wrist hit something hard in his shirt pocket. She sat up abruptly. "What was that?" she asked, rubbing her wrist.

Colt also sat up. "It's, uh…my class ring," he said, pulling the box out of his pocket. She gasped involuntarily, hoping that his bringing the ring meant what she thought it meant. "I was wondering if you maybe wanted to, you know, wear it."

She answered without thinking, practically launching herself at him. "Of course!"

Four months later, in the same field, she gave him something much more important than a ring. And the next day, he broke up with her. Son of a bitch.

Dexter and Lindsay had been dating approximately two months and had yet to do anything that could in any way be considered a date. Most of their outings consisted of going to the same dingy bar and then going back to Dexter's apartment. Lindsay felt less like a girlfriend and more like a bar buddy. She craved romance. She hadn't realized how much she wanted romance until she didn't have it at all. Colt stopped being hugely romantic after they became official, but at least he'd been romantic at all. Dexter didn't know the meaning of the word.

She complained about the fact that they never did anything loudly and often – to anyone who would listen. Anyone, of course, except Dexter. She assumed he wouldn't care, which was why she was very surprised, when he came to pick her up one evening, to find him behind the wheel of an old Vista Cruiser instead of on his motorcycle.

"Where's your bike?" she asked. She didn't get in the car. This had to be some kind of joke.

He shrugged. "I borrowed Ian's car for the night. Get in."

She thought she was going to die. Dexter could barely drive his motorcycle; of course he would be dangerous behind the wheel of a car. Lindsay was convinced she would have a heart attack before they ever arrived at wherever it was they were going. She gripped the door handle so hard her knuckles turned white.

Where they were going, apparently, was the old drive-in theater on the outskirts of town. Lindsay couldn't remember the last time she'd been to the drive-in. She honestly didn't think the place was still open. Dexter pulled into the lot and Lindsay glanced at the marquee. The drive-in was showing a horror movie double feature – Halloween and Friday the Thirteenth. Lindsay felt her insides churn. She hated slasher flicks. It wasn't that blood made her squeamish, or that she couldn't stomach the gore… Those sorts of movies dredged up unpleasant memories – memories she wasn't yet ready to deal with.

Dexter loved those sorts of movies. He always rented them, and even though she never wanted to watch, he ended up making her. She suspected it was because she usually ended up burying her face in his chest for the majority of the movie, trying to block out the screaming and the horrible sound of gushing blood that had haunted her nightmares since the age of eleven.

She turned to look at Dexter. "Can't we come here on another night?"

He shook his head. "This is the last night they're showing these two, and since it's Tuesday, it's half-price. Besides, these are my favorite movies." He looked at her. "You should know that."

She had to bite her tongue. She knew they were his favorite movies. He'd seen them at least a dozen times each. And she had been complaining that they never actually did anything on their dates. She sighed and leaned back against the seat. Maybe she could tune out the screams and try and focus on something else.

Dexter maneuvered the car through the lot until he found a space to park. He turned to Lindsay again. "Do you want popcorn or anything?"

She raised her eyebrows. Dexter was so cheap, she was amazed that he hadn't popped his own popcorn beforehand and brought it with him. And she couldn't remember the last time he'd offered to pay for anything; usually, she was the one who picked up the tab. She shook her head. Anything she ate would come right back up soon anyway. Better to keep her stomach empty. "No, thank you."

"Your loss."

He returned about fifteen minutes later with his arms full of every movie snack known to man. As soon as the smell hit her nose, Lindsay felt sick to her stomach. She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, taking slow, deep breaths of fresh air so that she wouldn't get sick.

"Hey, no puking in the Vista Cruiser," Dexter said. "Ian'll kick my ass."

Lindsay rolled her eyes and brought a hand to her forehead. Son of a bitch.

Not watching did not help. Lindsay had been forced to sit through the movies enough times to quite vividly picture what was happening on the screen, even though her eyes were tightly closed. Dexter's random interjections just made things worse.

"Whoa! Look at all that blood! It's a lot better on the big screen."

When the torture was finally over, Dexter drove Lindsay home. One of the fraternities on her street was having a party, so there was no good place to pull off to the side of the road to let her out. And rather than driving around the block, he just pulled into a random driveway, nearly two blocks from her apartment.

She opened the door and started to climb out of the car, only then noticing that the car was idling, the engine still running. She looked at him expectantly.

"What?"

She furrowed her brow. "You aren't going to walk me to my door?"

He shook his head. "It's only two blocks. You'll be fine."

She sighed and slid out of the car. She made sure to slam the door as hard as she could. She ran the rest of the way.

Martin and Lindsay had been dating six months, and Lindsay was already bored. She knew how horrible that must sound, but it was the truth. Martin was dull. He was predictable. Sixth months they'd been dating, and they already had a routine. They had three typical dates that they went on, and they just rotated.

Date number one was dinner – whether they went out to a restaurant or one of them cooked…usually Lindsay. Martin couldn't cook. Date number two was a movie – whether they went and saw one at the theater or rented one. Every other time, Lindsay got to pick, as they had very different taste in movies. Date number three was some sort of educational outing – Martin liked to drag her to a lot of lectures at Montana State, though he sometimes took her to the art gallery. Lindsay almost never enjoyed these; occasionally, the lectures were interesting, but she despised them on principle, because going to a lecture should not be considered a date.

They never deviated from the routine. To do so would bring about Armageddon. Or so Martin must have thought, the way he so strictly stuck to their schedule. He never would have taken her on a picnic to go stargazing, or even borrowed a friend's car to take her to the drive-in, despite the fact that those two activities technically fell under his requirements for their dates. He never would have taken her on a picnic because he was allergic to everything under the sun. He never would have taken her to the drive-in because he thought the whole concept was outdated and impractical.

Lindsay hated the lack of spontaneity in their relationship. She liked having a plan, true, but there was something to be said for just up and doing something because she felt like it. Spontaneity was romantic. She needed the romance.

Their six-month anniversary happened to fall on a night that had been designated for date number three. Lindsay was not looking forward to it at all. She knew that there was some ornithologist in town giving a lecture on how it was entirely possible that dinosaurs had evolved into birds, and she knew that Martin wanted to go.

So when Martin showed up at her door in a suit and tie – far too formal of attire to wear to a lecture – she was taken aback.

"I thought we were going to the lecture," she said, nearly gasping in surprise as he handed her an extravagant bouquet of red roses. She immediately turned and went into the kitchen to put the roses in a vase.

"It's our six-month anniversary," said Martin. "Go upstairs and change into your blue dress. I've made reservations at La Petite Soleil."

La Petit Soleil was the nicest restaurant in town and therefore the most expensive. It was the typical date place – for anniversaries, Valentine's Day, pre-prom dinners, and proposals. Everyone went there, because it was the only place to go. Lindsay had never been there. She grinned and dashed up the stairs to change out of her khakis and the sweater she'd been wearing. She was halfway through pulling on her blue dress when she realized that Martin had told her what to wear. She went to her closet and pulled out the pale green dress she'd bought on a whim – it was a tad snug, but it enhanced her cleavage quite nicely, and there was a slit on the right leg that went all the way up to mid-thigh.

She made her grand entrance down the stairs and twirled around once, showing off the dress.

Martin narrowed his eyes. "I told you to wear your blue dress," he said. "This is a classy place."

Lindsay scowled. Son of a bitch. She grabbed her purse from the table and stalked past him and out the door. "Well, I don't have time to change again," she said. "So let's just go."

Her excitement at going to a restaurant to which she'd never been quickly faded. As soon as they stepped through the doors into the waiting area, she realized that La Petite Soleil was just another restaurant. It looked the same as every other restaurant in Bozeman – the tables looked the same, the same overplayed classical musical was filtering through the speakers, the same fake trees were scattered around the floor, and the same replica paintings hung on the wall.

She did feel a bit giddy when she noticed that several of the guys in the restaurant turned to stare at her as the hostess led she and Martin to their table.

Dinner was a boring affair, as it usually was with Martin. The polite small talk they always engaged in soon morphed into one of Martin's semi-rants about the incompetence of their lab techs. Lindsay nodded robotically and interjected one-word comments at the appropriate pauses in Martin's speech, suddenly wishing that they had just gone to the damn lecture instead. At least then, Martin wouldn't be able to talk.

When Martin took her home, she knew he would want to stay the night. She didn't feel up to it, but she invited him in anyway.

Later that night, when Martin was asleep, Lindsay climbed out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the table, staring at the bouquet Martin had gotten her.

Roses, she decided, were terribly overrated.

Danny had been annoying Lindsay for eight months. Eight months of the not-so-subtle flirting, the constant asking her out for lunch, the calling her 'Montana,' and the intense gazes that made Lindsay's stomach turn to jelly. They had technically been on two dates, though neither referred to their outings as such. Cozy's was Lindsay's way of saying "I told you so," and the bug dinner had been intended for the entire team.

Lindsay hadn't told anyone it was her birthday. She hated birthdays. She hated being the center of attention. She hated the constant reminder that she wasn't getting any younger. So she kept that little piece of information to herself. The only person who could possibly know that it was her birthday was Mac, and she knew he wouldn't spread it around.

She and Danny had been working a nasty case about a teenage girl who brutally killed her rival because she didn't want the other girl to be Prom Queen. Lindsay was in a particularly bad mood after interrogating the snotty, pompous girl, and all she wanted to do was go back to her apartment and soak in a hot bath.

So when the two of them returned to their shared office, she began gathering up her stuff to leave. Danny sat on her desk, effectively forcing her to stop.

"Danny, please," she said, not caring how petulant she sounded. "I just want to go home."

He shook his head. "Nah. We're going out to dinner."

She looked at him, incredulous. "We're what?"

He flashed her one of those smiles that made her powerless, slid off the desk, and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. "I said we're going to dinner. And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

She expected that they would just go to a nearby restaurant – there were plenty around the crime lab – but he led her to the subway, keeping a death grip on her hand, preventing her from escaping. She asked several times just what in the hell he thought he was doing. He just laughed and told her to trust him.

They ended up at a pizzeria in Brooklyn. Lindsay glanced up at the name as Danny ushered her through the front door – Grimaldi's Pizzeria. He only let go of her hand once they were standing in front of the hostess's podium.

The hostess couldn't have been older than eighteen, but she was looking at Danny in a way that instantly made Lindsay want to leap over the counter and throttle her. "Hi, Danny," the girl said, shyly glancing away and giggling. "Usual table?"

Danny's 'usual table' was a two-top in one of the back corners, near the fireplace. Lindsay couldn't ever remember seeing a fireplace in a pizza place before, but her eyes continued to be focused on the teenage bimbo who made sure to 'casually' brush Danny's hand as she handed him the wine list. When the girl finally left, exaggeratedly swaying her hips as she walked, Lindsay said, "She seems to know you."

Danny shrugged, no trace of embarrassment on his face. "Everyone knows me. I come here a lot – best pizza in the world."

Lindsay soon discovered that everyone at the restaurant did seem to know him. Their waiter, a college-age kid with a faux-hawk, also greeted Danny by name. Rather than ordering them a bottle of wine, as Lindsay suspected, Danny ordered a beer for himself and an amaretto sour for her.

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. Amaretto sour was her favorite drink. "Are you stalking me or something?" she asked with a smile.

He winked. "I remember things."

It was, indeed, the best pizza in the world. Lindsay had never had such amazing pizza. The crust – Lindsay's favorite part of a pizza – was thin and crispy and incredibly delicious; Danny explained that it was the coal brick-ovens they used. Even though she hadn't been hungry, they ended up polishing off the entire pizza, and before she knew it, they'd been at the restaurant for over an hour. It certainly didn't feel as though it had been that long. She and Danny had been regaling each other with their most unusual cases – Danny had quite a few, but he declared, after hearing some of her stories, that Lindsay definitely had him beat.

She was staring at the menu, which was on the placemat, debating whether or not to order dessert – she'd always wanted to try cannolis – when she happened to catch the song that was playing. "I love this song," she said.

"Wanna dance?"

She glanced up at Danny. She hadn't even realized that she'd spoken out loud. Her eyes darted around the restaurant; it was late, and the place was nearly empty, save for them and a few other patrons. She turned back to Danny. "No one else is dancing," she said, hoping that was a good enough excuse.

"So?"

Ah, yes. She'd forgotten common sense didn't work on Danny Messer. She fumbled for another excuse, but Danny again grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. His other hand rested on her hip, then slowly slid around to the small of her back, gently pulling her closer. Her other hand automatically went to his shoulder, listening to the frantic beating of her heart rather than the excuses in her brain.

They danced for a while, and Lindsay desperately trying to calm her racing heart. The song changed abruptly, the voice sounding different, the sound getting louder. She looked up at Danny and saw that he was softly singing along. Not just singing along – singing to her. He was staring not at some random point off in the distance, but right at her.

Dammit.

She had never heard him sing when he was sober. He actually had a fairly decent voice. And the way he was looking at her, combined with the fact that the hand on her back had managed to find its way under her shirt when she wasn't paying attention, was enough to send her frazzled brain into overdrive. She must be going crazy, because she suddenly wanted to kiss Danny Messer.

She abruptly pulled away, stepping out of the warmth of his arms. "We'd better start back," she said, practically tripping over the words in her haste to spit them out as quickly as possible. She had to clear her throat, because the voice that just escaped her lips did not sound like her at all. "It's getting late."

Danny licked his lips, and her eyes were riveted on the action. Every time he did that, she couldn't help thinking about all the other things she wanted that tongue to be doing. She shook her head to clear the images, because Danny was speaking.

"Sure, Lindsay," he said. "I'll just take care of the check, and we can go."

She started to protest – if he paid, then this would be a date, and she didn't want it to be a date – but he was already gone. She sighed and put her head in her hands. This was not good.

They walked outside of the restaurant. The evening was cool – brisk but not chilly. Spring was in the air. Danny took a deep breath and then turned to her. "Want to walk back?"

She balked. "Are you kidding me?"

He shrugged. "It's not that far. C'mon… It's a nice night."

They walked. Lindsay had never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, but when they approached, she was very glad Danny had suggested this. The city was all lit up, and she stopped along the bridge to stare at the skyline. She felt Danny approach before she heard him; he came up beside her and mimicked her position – leaning against the railing.

"Beautiful," he said.

She nodded, her eyes on the skyline. "I must admit, I've never seen anything quite like it."

He turned to her, so that he was speaking directly in her ear. "I was talking about you."

She froze, her mind scrambling to come up with a response that didn't end in taking him right there on the bridge. "That line usually work for you, Messer?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did.

He licked his lips again. Dammit. "Probably," he said. "I wouldn't know. I've never used it before."

She backed away from the railing so quickly that she nearly stumbled, shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and started walking again. After a moment, Danny followed.

They walked the rest of the way back to the lab in silence. She was almost home free when they happened upon a tiny florists' shop that was, for some reason, still open, despite the late hour. Danny motioned for her to wait and dashed inside, emerging several minutes later with his hand behind his back.

"Danny," she said. But she couldn't think of a way to finish that sentence, because at that moment, Danny held out his purchase.

A single red tulip.

"Happy birthday, Lindsay," he said.

Speechless, Lindsay accepted the tulip.

Son of a bitch.

A/N: Special thanks to Cyko for the beta (and the very encouraging comments) and Spunky for all her help at 1:30 in the morning – Pacific time.

A red tulip is a declaration of love.