Hemingway thought about it for a moment, but she was probably right. He would have ended up buying her something utterly ridiculous, anyway. "Well, I will pay for new panties, at least."
At her question, he frowned slightly. How the hell did one even begin to explain why they loved someone? "Love just is, Knightly. Applying logic to it is futile," he insisted. "You think I have a type? Even if I did, you could hardly say it's worked out well for me," he pointed out. "You are very good at taking care of people- of me, of Charlie... but that's not all you are, that's not how I see you. Even if you were, is that really so bad a thing to be good at?" he asked. He wished he could just show her how she looked through his eyes. It wasn't something that could be explained easily. He just loved her, every part of her. "And don't you talk down your ass, little shorts."