I remembered Sunday pancakes.
I remembered him singing off-key while he washed dishes.
I remembered the yellow curtains in our kitchen and the three blue birds he painted above the window because thunderstorms frightened me.
And I remembered the backyard swing beneath the oak tree, where he pushed me higher than I dared ask and promised to catch me if I ever fell.
Those memories followed me into adulthood.
Eventually, they led me to Ethan.
When we met, he was working at a small garage across town. My car had started making a strange noise, and a friend recommended that I take it to him.
Ethan spent nearly an hour examining the engine.
When I asked how much I owed him, he named a price so reasonable that I thought he had forgotten something.
“That’s all?”
“Unless you’d like me to charge you for the pleasure of my company.”
I laughed.
