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“Engineering.”

He gives me a look. “Very helpful,” he says dryly.

“Hey, I’m not an architect.”

I click through several photographs, and Gabriel studies each one with an intensity that makes me smile. He is legitimately adorable.

Then I show him an airplane. Then a video of one taking off.

He stares, then shakes his head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not. That contraption cannot possibly fly.”

“Millions of people fly every day.”

“Voluntarily?”

I snort. “Most of them.” I find another video of a busy airport with the planes landing and taxiing to and from their gates.

“And they can all fly at the same time? Don’t they run into one another?”

“Occasionally, but there is technology to help prevent that for the most part.”

“Extraordinary.” Then he points at the screen. “Again.”

I play it again. And then, because apparently I’ve discovered my new favorite hobby, I show him a rocket launch.

He watches the entire thing without saying a word.

When it’s over, he turns to me. “Human beings have been into the heavens?”

“Yep. They’ve landed on the moon and built structures up there.”

He looks back at the screen. “The actual moon?”

“No, the decorative one we keep in the garage.”

“April,” he chides.

“Yes. The actual moon.”

He sits back against the sofa. “Good heavens.”

And there’s something about his expression that makes my heart squeeze.

Wonder. That’s what it is. Pure, uncomplicated wonder.

This man has been trapped in a house for a hundred and forty-three years, conscious, but also unaware of most of the changes in the world.

“I have watched automobiles change over these years, but that was a small feat compared to much of the other things.”

I’m showing him things the rest of us take for granted. I can’t imagine what it must feel like.

“What else?” he asks.

I smile. “Oh, Rocky. You have no idea.”