She laughs. “I have a feeling there’s more to the Westcott family tree, but since you’re giving me the short version, how about we talk about that some other time?”

“I like the sound of ‘some other time’ when it comes to you.”

She shrugs. “Well, I do owe you a dinner now, so I figure we don’t have to learn our whole life stories tonight.”

“True.”

Clasping her hands together on the table in front of her, she says, “But I need to know because I’m sensing a pattern. What’s up with the water names? Harbor, Marina, Loch—”

I chuckle. “There’s more, but I’ll leave it for some other time.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Lark smiles, leaving the topic where I left it. “How about you and Loch. You live together, but do you get along?”

Nodding, I reply. “Yes, ever since he moved out.”

“Ah,” she says, not surprised at all. “I hear siblings can be a pain in the ass.” Touching her chest, she adds, “Not that I would know since I’m an only child.”

“He graduated from Beacon U. two years ago. Now he spends most of his time in New York City, my dad’s right-hand man in the Manhattan office. He stays at the house when he’s in town.”

“That’s exciting.”

I shrug. “Loch is working on his career, networking, doing everything a good son does for his family.” Her smile falls. “What is it?”

She sits back and adjusts the napkin on her lap. “That sounds like a good employee more than a son.”

As an outsider, she doesn’t understand the full scope of Loch’s role in our family. But she just nailed me, undermining all my brother does for us. She sees me so clearly. I have a feeling I can’t pull anything over on her, so I straighten my shoulders and try to ignore the unsettling feeling creeping up the sides of my spine.

She asks, “What are your plans after graduation? Following in the family footsteps?” There’s no judgment in her tone or the way she looks at me, like what I say next will give insight into who I am.

Despite being called on my BS, she gives me the floor to say what I’m comfortable with sharing. “No. I’ve chosen the noble profession of medicine to pursue.”

Her mouth falls open, her lips parting in such a deliciously subtle way. “You’re going to medical school?”

I shift across the vinyl, still trying to come to peace with the decision I’ve made regarding my future. “That’s the plan.”

As if I’ve made her day, she says, “Incredible. I’m also going to medical school. Well, trying to. I’m working on applications and took the MCAT over the summer.” Resting her arms on the table, she sits on the edge of the seat and closes some of the space between us on the table. “I can’t believe we have that in common. You’re a senior and pre-med, right? How have we never met?”