“Either. Or both. I just think there wouldn’t be much point in spending eternity alone without somebody to recognize you.”

“Recognize you?” he repeated, intrigued.

“You know. Someone who can look at you and actually see you. Someone who can find you, regardless of you being able to do so yourself.”

“God, the way you talk,” Ethan said, with a breathy voice I found so very interesting.

“What?” I looked up at him.

“Most people don’t talk like that.”

“Is that…bad?”

He leaned in and kissed me, biting my bottom lip as he pulled away.

“Definitely not bad,” he softly said.

It made me completely lose focus, which was apparently becoming a habit.

“Tell me something about you,” I asked him.

“What do you want to know?”

“All of it?” I blurted out.

It seemed I was starting to say stuff I never thought I would too. Words I would normally do a better job at editing in my head before setting them free.

“Tell me some of your firsts.” I was quick to amend.

“My firsts?”

“Yeah, like…first memory?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Grandma Cooper holding me in her arms when I was probably about three, feeding me…something. Probably a tomato.”

“A tomato?” I smiled.

“I love tomatoes,” he said, serious. “What’s your first memory?”

“Playing pirate with Liam; I was Blackbeard.” I then added, “First pet?”

“Cindy. Black lab. I got her as a gift for my fourth birthday. I say gift, but it was more of a bribe. My parents were divorcing, and Mom thought it would be a good idea for me to have some company.”

“Was she right?”

“She almost always is,” he reluctantly admitted. “You?”

“I’m always right too,” I said, making him chuckle.

He had the sweetest laugh. Somewhat goofy and extremely honest. I found the more time we spent together, getting him to laugh felt extremely satisfying.

“Any pets?” He rephrased the question.

“Oh. We had a German shepherd named Sandra when I was growing up.”

“Sandra?” he repeated, laughing.

“Yep. I also had a goldfish.”

“Let me guess, Goldie?”

“Frank.”

He laughed again.

“First kiss?” I asked him.

“Sabrina Mullins,” he was quick to remember. “We were watching My Girl at my mom’s house. It was barely a kiss.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven?” He smiled. “My first actual kiss was with Monica…I want to say…Jenkins. But I don’t think that’s right.”

I cuddled closer to him.

“She’s Dean’s cousin,” he said. “Two years older than me. We kissed at camp when I was twelve. “She said I was a terrible kisser.”

“Yeah, that Jenkins girl is clearly insane,” I told him, making him chuckle. “Did you cry?”

“No. Now, my second actual kiss? I cried because of that one.”

“Explain?”