The Unhoneymooners

He laughs and gives a wince I find so adorable I want to spill his water into his lap. “I didn’t mean that to be creepy. We were just talking about Sophie yesterday, and I realize I didn’t ask anything about you.”

“That’s okay,” I assure him with a casual wave. “I’m fine not talking about my dating life.”

“Yeah, but I want to know. We’re sort of friends now, right?” Blue eyes twinkle when he smiles, the dimple makes an appearance, and I look away, noticing that others are noticing his smile, too. “I mean, I did rub your butt yesterday.”

“Stop reminding me.”

“Come on. You liked it.”

I did. I really did. Taking a deep breath, I tell him, “My last boyfriend was a guy named Carl, and—”

“I’m sorry. Carl?”

“Look, they can’t all be sexy Sophie names,” I say, and immediately regret it because it makes him frown, even when the waiter places a giant, alcohol-soaked, fruit-filled drink in front of him. “So, his name was Carl, and he worked at 3M, and—God, it’s so dumb.”

“What’s dumb?”

“I broke up with him because when the whole thing with 3M and the water pollution went down, he defended the company and I just could not handle it. It felt so corporate and gross.”

Ethan shrugs. “That sounds like a pretty reasonable reason to break up to me.”

I meet his high-five without thinking, and then mentally log how awesome it is that he chose that moment to high-five me. “Anyway, so that was . . . a while ago, and here we are.” He’s already put away about half of his mai tai, so I turn it back to him. “Has there been anyone since Sophie?”

“A couple Tinder dates.” He drains the rest of his drink, and then notices my expression. “It’s not that bad.”

“I guess not. In my head, I just picture every dude on Tinder is expecting it to just be sex.”

He laughs. “A lot probably are. Probably a lot of women are, too. I’m certainly not expecting sex on the first date.”

“Or, what? The fifth?” I say, gesturing to the table, and then clap my mouth shut because HELLO, THIS IS NOT A DATE.

Thankfully, my idiocy coincides with the waiter coming by to take another drink order, so by the time Ethan turns back to me, he’s ready to move on.

And as it turns out, Ethan is a really cute, happy drunk. His cheeks turn pink, he’s got a permagrin, and even when we return to the topic of Sophie, he’s still giggling.

“She wasn’t very nice to me,” he says, and then laughs. “And I’m sure it made it worse that I stayed. Nothing is harder in a relationship than not respecting the person you’re with.” He leans his chin heavily into his hand. “I didn’t like myself with her. I was willing to try to be the guy she wanted rather than who I really am.”

“Examples, please.”

He laughs. “Okay, here’s one that might give you a sense of it: we had a couple’s photo shoot.”

“White shirts and denim with a fence backdrop?” I ask, wincing.

He laughs harder. “No, she wore white, I wore black. In front of an artfully dilapidated barn.” We both groan. “More importantly, though, we never fought. She hated fighting, so it was like we couldn’t even disagree.”

“Sounds just like me and you,” I say sarcastically, giving him a grin.

He laughs, and his smile lingers as he looks at me. “Yeah.” After a pause that seems to hang, heavy and expectant, he inhales deeply and says, “I’ve never been like that before.”

God, I relate to this more than I can say. “Honestly, I get that.”

“Do you?”

“Before Carl—” I say, and he snickers again at the name, “I dated this guy, Frank—”

“Frank?”

“We’d met at wor—”