Lists are usually the remit of Friday’s savourites - the weekly dispatch that goes to paying subscribers of savour - but there’s an about-turn this week due to the fact I’m sharing the introduction from Why Women Grow’s audiobook in savourites on Friday. Fancy getting your lugholes around it? Upgrade your subscription here.

It feels fitting to start this post with a little admin, because I think it’s in the admin of life that oft-overlooked romance thrives. It’s Valentine’s Day next week, something I’ve not really acknowledged since the days when we drew hearts for our parents in primary school. The shops fill up with sad, heinously carbon-heavy roses. M and I can never remember if we do cards or not. I keep half an eye out for a bouquet shoved in a bin (my favourite London Valentine’s Day tradition). We all move on with our lives and our loves.

I don’t really bother with Valentine’s Day because I’m the kind of deep-down romantic who stashes sentiment in the everyday. The people who have waited outside my house at 3am with piping hot baked goods turned out to be manipulative and cruel. Instead, I got engaged in a three-day-old T-shirt, surrounded by the plants I’d grown, and then danced in the kitchen. We get told the same lies about romance - that it is heteronormative, tied to sex and commitment - but romance lies far more broadly than that. Some of my most heartbreaking love affairs have happened with people I’ve never slept with. I have been wooed, endlessly, by the girls I grew up with. Look around your life, and you will find romantic acts. Here are some that spring to mind:

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• texting someone good morning, or good night, especially when they’re going through it.

• making sure there’s milk in the fridge, cereal in the cupboard, or chocolate on the shelf.

• the gifts that can’t necessarily be bought (a handful of blooming rosemary; a paperback you’re passing on because you want to know what they think; a song, sent through the ether; an orange segment, tucked delicately into another’s palm; the perfect skimming stone).

• the ones that can (groceries delivered at heavy times; seasonal flowers, tied up with string; crockery found in a second-hand shop, to carry more meals; beeswax candles; a tiny doughnut in a paper bag, a little squashed from being carried home).

• supporting your loved ones’ endeavours, in heart and body and pocket.

• going somewhere just for pudding

• a compliment paid, especially on an item of clothing they’ve had a while, or on a trait they hadn’t ever taken notice of themselves.

• cycling somewhere together, even if it’s just to the pub.

• on the matter of the pub, picking up a packet of crisps while you’re getting a round in.

• pausing what you’re doing to look at the sunset they’re excited about, or watch the video they want you to see.

• saying “yes”

• tea and toast at home after a night out

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• big skies, and knowing to look for them

• party invitations, especially between new friends

• writing, and sending, post

• waiting to watch the next episode so you can do so together

• sneaking leftovers into luggage before people leave

• stumbling across old photographs and remembering the people you used to be

• knowing that your best kiss is yet to come

• conversations with strangers

• the camaraderie of women’s toilets in nightclubs at a certain hour

• recognising the scarf someone left behind because it smells of their perfume

• doing new things

• not having your phone on the table

• hand-me-down clothes on permanent loan, so that a dress or a shirt or a jumper becomes something you share depending on when you need it

• giving something unwanted a new lease of life

• helping someone do something that is easy for you, and baffling for them

• knowing that there are some commitments you just don’t bail on

• making a two-hour round-trip for a cuppa, because the company matters more than the distance

• voicenotes

• ordering the whole menu

• having a candle on the table, and lighting it, even if it’s just for you and the laptop you’re watching netflix on.