He leaned back, looking a little – dare I say it – pleased?

“What, what? Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked, trying to find the place in my book that I had lost when Raine had poked me.

“I’ve…never met someone quite like you.”

I chuckled again. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“You remind me of someone.”

My head pivoted upwards at this. “Oh? Do I, now? First Papa, and then you. I seem to have split personalities.”

When he gave no answer, I continued skimming the verses until I came across the one I loved the most.

“Ah, here it is,” I said excitedly, and followed the sentence with my eyes.

“Where’s what?”

“My favorite verse.”

“Which would be?”

“Is this an interrogation?” I saw that he was genuinely interested, and I gave a sigh as I pointed out the last verse of the poem.

“You have good taste.”

“What’s this, the night of the compliments?” I joked, flipping the pages and coming to another poem.

“How did you come across these things?”

“My mother.”

“Come again?”