I walked out onto the farmhouse’s wooden porch.

The air held the gentle warmth of late spring.

Ethan was sitting on the top step with his forearms on his knees.

He was gazing out at the long gravel driveway.

I sat down in the woven wicker chair behind him.

We watched the shadows stretch across the grass.

“Look, I can’t stop thinking about how you looked standing on that lawn,” Ethan said.

He didn’t turn around to face me.