In May, when the school year was over, he helped her move from her dorm room into a one-bedroom apartment in Menlo Park. Most undergrads at Stanford lived on campus and moved back home for the summer or got a short-term rental. Peyton signed a one-year lease.

She got a summer internship at SRI doing genetics research, and she seemed to really enjoy it. That made him happy.

By July, he was sleeping at her place most of the time. It was comfortable. He liked being around her. But he felt a deep guilt about it. There was something wrong with him, and he couldn’t figure out how to tell her.

Peyton had never asked him about the scars—or his past, for that matter. And she rarely asked him for anything. That changed one Saturday night.

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he answered.

“My mom and sister and my sister’s husband are coming for lunch tomorrow. Join us.”

He said nothing.

“They won’t bite, Des.”

Her mother’s name was Lin. She had an MD and a PhD and was the daughter of a German father and Chinese mother. He could see a strong resemblance between the two women. Peyton was Lin Shaw’s younger daughter, Madison the older.

Lin was a researcher at Stanford and an adjunct professor. Madison worked for a nonprofit concerned with the preservation of wildlife. Desmond made a mental note not to mention how many deer, wild hogs, turkeys, and elk he had killed.

Madison’s husband, Derrick, was an investment banker in San Francisco. He had an MBA from Wharton, a place Desmond had never heard of, and seemed to take himself rather seriously. He was also the principal interrogator at lunch. Desmond figured he was just being protective, trying to play the role of father figure since Peyton’s own father had passed away.

“What’s your alma mater, Desmond?” Derrick asked.

“Noble High School.”

“You didn’t go to college?”

“Didn’t need to.”

Derrick didn’t like that answer, though Peyton smiled.

The man pressed on.

“What do your parents do?”

“They owned a ranch in Australia.”

His eyes lit up.

“Before they died.”

“You don’t sound Australian, dear,” Lin said.

“I moved here when I was young.”

“To the Bay Area?”

“Oklahoma.”

“Oklahoma…” Derrick turned the word over in his mouth like a bone he’d unexpectedly found in his soup.

Back at Peyton’s apartment, Desmond stood in the kitchen. “They hated me.”

“They loved you.”

“I’m a country boy, but I’m not stupid. They don’t think I’m good enough for you, Peyton.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“And so will your family.”

“Maybe, but they don’t make my decisions for me. I do. And I don’t care if you don’t have a college degree.” Before he could speak, she added, “All I want is you, Desmond.”