I pause. He said it's more fun traveling with me, right?
Did he say that because of all the sex we've been having? Is he saying there's going to be more, that this is going to be a thing - us having sex on the side whenever he's doing business out of town?
"I can even bring you along the next time I go on vacation," Ethan says. "Maybe on Christmas? You and I can come back here to Zurich. Or we can try Vienna or Prague or one of the German cities. They're all beautiful at that time of year."
Christmas with Ethan? It sounds like a dream come true.
"Don't you usually spend Christmas with your father and brothers?" I ask him.
"Usually," he answers. "But it doesn't always have to be that way."
I pause in the middle of lifting my spoon. My heart sinks because I remember what he said about his father wanting him to get married.
Should I ask him about it again? But last time, he didn't want to talk about it. He looked annoyed, even. I don't want that to happen. I don't want to ruin the mood.
But it seems mine has already cracked, weighed down by the image of Ethan spending future Christmases with his own family, with his wife and children. If only they could be mine.
Wait. I'm dreaming of having his kids now?
"Is something wrong?" Ethan asks.
He must have noticed the shadow hanging over me.
I try to shake it off as I dig into my parfait. "What do you usually do during the holidays?"
"Not much," Ethan says. "The company party is the grand affair. When Christmas Day comes, we usually just laze around all day and have dinner together."
"You don't exchange presents?"
"Not anymore."
I guess it's hard to give presents to people who can buy everything they want.
"What about you?" Ethan asks me. "What did you and your family use to do for Christmas?"
"On Christmas Day? We'd start by exchanging presents around the tree, then I'd help my mom start preparing dinner. We'd usually have it early, like around five, so that we could watch movies afterwards."
Ethan nods. "Sounds like fun."
"Yeah."
Those Christmas days really were. Oh, what I'd do to bring them back.
Ethan places his hand over mine.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up the past and make you sad."
I shake my head. "I'm not. Those were happy memories, the ones that no one should ever forget."
They're the proof that my mother and father existed and that they'll always be with me.
"But I'd rather hear yours," I tell Ethan. "Surely, you must have a few."
He leans back in his chair. "What do you want to know?"
Everything.
"Whatever you want to share," I answer before eating another spoonful of my dessert. "I'll just sit here and listen."
Ethan taps his fingers on the table. "Let's see..."
~
"I don't believe you," I tell Ethan as we continue our conversation on the balcony.
In the distance, the city lights gleam against the night sky like gems in a mine.
"It's true," he says. "That dog could climb trees, and in seconds, too. I actually wondered if he was a squirrel pretending to be a dog."
I chuckle. I've heard of dogs climbing on top of furniture like cats. But dogs climbing trees like squirrels?
"Speaking of squirrels, I had a dog that ate a squirrel once. I thought he was going to be sick but he turned out fine. The weird part is he died years later from a chicken bone."
Weird, indeed.
"How many dogs did you have growing up?" I ask him.
Ethan starts counting on his fingers, first on his left hand and then on his right.
Don't tell me he had ten?
"Eight that I remember," he answers.
Still a lot.
"You said you had one, right?" he asks me.
I nod. "A Labrador. We got him from the shelter when he was a year old. He was mostly my dad's dog, but sometimes he would sleep at my feet. He was pretty normal, didn't like to climb trees or eat squirrels, though he was friends with the neighbor's cat."
Ethan grins. "I had a Labrador, too, but the one who followed me around everywhere was a..."
He stops suddenly, his attention clearly caught by something. Curious, I turn around and realize he's staring at a fluffy white dog sitting beside a boy of about five or six years old.
I touch my chin. What's that breed again?
"Samoyed," Ethan provides the answer.
"Right, that's..." I pause as I realize he's smiling. "Oh. That's the same breed as