He smiled.
And somehow, that ordinary afternoon became the beginning of everything.
Our first date was at a little restaurant where the tables were too close together and the waiter kept forgetting our drinks. Ethan apologized for choosing the place, but I told him I liked it.
“Next time,” he promised, “I’ll take you somewhere better.”
“Why? I like this.”
He studied me for a moment.
“You’re not just saying that?”
“No.”
He seemed genuinely relieved.
Years later, I would realize that he had been afraid of disappointing me long before my mother ever told him he wasn’t good enough.
Ethan worked hard, but he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t promise me a mansion or a life without financial worries.
He promised to show up.
And he did.
When I caught the flu, he arrived with medicine, soup, and a list of instructions he’d copied from the pharmacist.
