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Even though I would argue she’s the far more interesting person, as I hang on to whatever scraps of her life she wants to offer me.

I shift in my seat at her question and shrug.

I’ve always felt strange talking about my background. I’m well off and am extremely fortunate to have grown up comfortably, but it still makes me feel like shit sometimes.

Ace grew up dirt poor and fought for everything he had.

And I was just…givenit.

Born into luxury in Stone fucking County, the richest area on the West Coast.

“I did,” I answer. “But as soon as I could, I got out of there.”

She places her fork down. “Why? I would havediedto grow up there.” There’s a hint of longing in her tone, and guilt weighs heavy in my chest.

“It was a nice place,” I say carefully. “But I didn’t really fit in.”

“Really? You seem well adjusted to me.”

I chuckle. “You didn’t know me back then. I was the shy, nerdy kid. There were expectations if you grew up in Stone County, but I didn’t meet them.”

She furrows her brow. “What kind of expectations?”

“The normal kind. Be great at sports, be a perfect student, go to the best college.”

“What about your parents?” Her eyes widen. “Did they expect that of you?”

“They were great,” I admit. “I mean, they still are great. I just…didn’t fit in. So, I left.”

She looks down at her soup, and I have the sense that something I said upset her.

“Do you still talk to them?” She picks at her food with her fork, still staring at the plate.

“I do. Probably not as much as I should.”

“You should talk to them more,” she murmurs. When she looks back up at me, her expression is as bright as before, as if the sudden shift in her mood never happened.

I want to know why, but I won’t push her. I can’t, not after her reaction when I asked her where she grew up.

Don’t fuck this up,Ace scolds in my head.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say carefully. “Maybe I’ll call my mom tonight.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore. Instead, it looks forced, and I want to knowwhy.

Just tell me, sweetheart. I’ll listen, I promise.

“And no siblings, right?” she asks after a sip of water.

“No siblings. Only child.”

“An only child in Stone County,” she repeats, her tone wistful. “I can’t even imagine.”

I’m dying to ask her more about her life.

I want to tell her I’ll buy her a ridiculous house right now in Stone County and move her there if only to see her eyes light up again.

“I don’t have biological siblings, as far as I know,” she says. “I consider Skylar and April to be my sisters, though. They’re my best friends in the entire world.”