“Authenticity,” he said, his tongue tucked firmly in his cheek. “You think if a guy doesn’t care about getting your consent to fuck you, he’ll give a shit about your clothes?”

She rolled her eyes and flipped the pancakes. “How many of these will you eat?”

“How many you got?”

“Next time I’ll double the recipe,” she decided. She turned the first three golden-brown cakes onto a plate and passed it to him. “Here, get started on those.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d finished the first batch by the time the rest were done, and she slipped another three on his plate before taking two for herself and settling on the stool beside him.

“These are good,” he told her. “Family recipe?”

“Internet,” she told him, drowning her short stack in syrup. “I don’t have any family recipes.”

That made him pause. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. “No family, really.”

He laid his fork down. He’d known she didn’t have any siblings, but she’d never told him this. “Where are your parents?”

“They died when I was seventeen,” she told him, sorrow darkening her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and laid a hand over hers. His family was loud and interfering and annoying, but he couldn’t imagine his life without them.

“Thanks.” She smiled faintly, her eyes still clouded. “It was a house fire. They were able to save some stuff in the garage—a dresser my dad was refinishing, a mirror that belonged to my grandma, stuff like that—but everything else was lost.”

“You were able to get out?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I was with a friend from school, touring colleges with her family. My parents were supposed to take me, but my dad had to work. They were asleep when the fire started. The medical examiner said he didn’t think they even woke up.”

“Ah, fofa.” The look in her eyes was breaking his heart. He rose from his stool, pulling her up with him, and folded her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

Her body was stiff against his, then she gave a hard shudder and relaxed into him, her arms creeping around his waist and holding on. “I was going to say it’s okay,” she mumbled into his bare chest, “but it sucks.”

He laid his cheek against her hair. “Why haven’t I ever heard this story?”

“I don’t really talk about it.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “It’s too hard.”

“I understand.”

“You have a big family, right?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.

“Big enough.” He stroked his fingers over her cheek, wanting to soothe. “Mom, dad, three sisters.”

A hint of amusement chased the lingering sadness from her eyes. “I remember. Are your sisters older or younger?”

“Claudia and Flavia are both older, and Tatchi is the baby.”

“Tatchi?”