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“We still could be right,” Dale said. “Are you fake, Wren?”

“Are you?” I asked. I wondered what the real Gemma was like. Warm? Genuine? Someone who matched up better with Asher’s sweet nature, for sure.

“Ouch,” Brett said. “She fires back.”

“Anyone want food?” Asher asked, perhaps to change the subject, or maybe because we were passing a McDonald’s.

“Home. Shower,” Brett grunted.

A few minutes later, and not even close to the part of town I thought we were heading to, Asher pulled up in front of an average-sized house—single story, two-car garage, bright blue door. Considering he went to a private school, I was surprised. Asher didn’t seem to be the typical Dalton student. Dale, who had not been dropped off, proving his sidekick status, got out of the car first. Brett climbed out next.

Before he walked away, Brett looked back at me. “Glad to know my brother is not as big of a loser as I thought he was.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said. Then he shut the door.

Asher put the car in park and turned all the way around. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “That’s the first bit of respect my brother has ever given me.”

“Yeah, right,” I said with a small chuckle.

“No, he wasn’t kidding with the loser talk.”

“Well, brothers can be pretty annoying, you should ignore him.” Once the front door to the house closed, I asked, “Does Dale really have a private driver?”

“I thought I told you that.”

“I’m sure you did,” I said.

“He’s really not as obnoxious as he seems. I promise.”

“I don’t need any promises.” Wow, that sounded cryptic.

It was time to come clean. I pointed to the passenger seat and he nodded. I climbed over the middle console and awkwardly worked my way to sitting, regretting immediately that I didn’t justexit the car and enter the front seat the normal way. By the time I settled in, Asher was laughing.

“I’m usually more graceful when I do that,” I said.

“I’m sure you are.” He gave a thoughtful smile, then gestured toward his house. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

“I know I said coffee, but actually, I should probably get home. I didn’t tell my dad I was going somewhere after work.” On Saturdays, he got off at five, to start his routine two hours earlier.

“Your dad?” Asher asked.

Did Gemma not have a dad? Had she had him fake-die in some tragic accident?

Asher turned sideways and reached over, placing his hand on my forearm. “Tell me about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. You’ve been so private with family details.”

She had? “My dad works a lot.”

“And your mom?”

“Left us years ago to be able to do whatever she wants whenever she wants to.” I didn’t tell people that, especially people I hardly knew. What was it about him that made me want to spill my guts? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I needed to stop.

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “She’s not. You definitely shouldn’t be.”