I blinked at him. « No? »
« No, » he repeated, suddenly amused.
« Ethan, that is unfair. »
Every time I asked after that, he gave me the same answer.
He would just smile and say, « You’ll hear them at the altar. I want to see your face when you realize what I’ve been keeping from you. »
I rolled my eyes every single time, but secretly, I loved that he wanted to surprise me.
That was Ethan.
He could turn a Tuesday into a memory.
He would leave sticky notes in my lunch bag, buy flowers from the grocery store because he said roses from fancy shops looked too nervous, and call his mother every Sunday at 6 p.m. sharp.
His mother, Grace, loved him in that steady, watchful way mothers love only sons.
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