“Thank you.” I tipped an imaginary hat to him. “But I’m the talkative, artsy weirdo who left my hometown and moved to New York City. My mom and stepdad met at the bank they worked at, and that’s the same place they retired from a few years ago. Their idea of a fun night is sitting in matching recliners watching CSI.”

“Wait, that actually does sound like a fun night to me,” Hayes objected, and then bit into a fry.

“True,” I said. “But you get what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I do.”

“And the crazy part is,” I added, “I think this sister might also be an artsy weirdo. Just a very successful one. So I’m intimidated by that, but also I’m dying to know what she’s like, and what my dad was like, and if…”

Hayes let me go silent, and then finished my thought for me. “And if you’re at all like them.”

I nodded and felt annoyed at how easily he got me. I was trying desperately not to be into this guy, and then he had to go and understand exactly what I was trying to say. “But there’s a part of me that worries—what if I’m not like them at all? And then what? It’ll be like I don’t fit in anywhere.”

I turned my attention back to my food, dragging a French fry through the pile of ketchup I’d made in front of me. I didn’t want him to see that my eyes had filled with tears.

Hayes was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Do you wanna hear what I think?” he asked gingerly, like he was trying to pull out a splinter without hurting me. I nodded.

“You’re under no obligation to respond, just because you’re related. Family is what we make, not what we’re born into. At least it is for me.”

I took a swig of my water, listening.

“And maybe, instead of this revealing something new about yourself, it will help you connect to what you’ve always known about yourself all along.”

Well, that was…deep. Not what I was expecting. It almost sounded like he knew what he was talking about. But that was ridiculous. Hayes was the kind of person who clearly had it all figured out. Maybe I was way off. Maybe he was still learning too.

“Thanks, Hayes. I should pay you for this therapy session,” I joked.

“Whatever choice you make will be the right one,” he said knowingly, like he’d told himself this same thing before. “And if you do end up going over to Italy to meet her, I can definitely tell you how to say ‘Subway QTs’ in Italian.”