Tiana’s mom. There it was, the obligation Sean was tending. Kira was right; he wasn’t friendly with her of his own volition. Aside from that, the idea of a whole island of people watching out for you, up in your business, even in a nice way? Imagining it made me a little claustrophobic, but also kind of fascinated, and sidebar, why did I even bring his dad up at all? I take it from Where do you live? to Let me reopen that wound about your dead dad from eight years ago? Classy.

“So,” he said, “here’s the thing: Jason, whose job you have, was kind of a Natan apologist, but I feel like with you, I’ve got a partner in suffering, so thank you.”

A refreshing turn, even if it did involve Man Bun.

“Absolutely,” I said. Partner.

“And I’ve got this renewed motivation to…get rid of him? Somehow?”

His arm was against mine. I did not move. “Why does Jane keep him around? She’s not dumb; she must hear his bullshit like we do. Doesn’t she?”

“She must,” he said. “I don’t get it. And by ‘get rid of’ I mean, like, fired or something, not like put a hit on him.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Get the guy fired? Bold. I liked it.

“He’s got another two years at Salishwood before he graduates, so we need to think of something or we’ll be stuck with him….I mean, if we’re going to be around that long. If you are.”

“Well,” I said, pointedly ducking his question, “we can start with how he’s terrible with the kids.” I tied my shoe, using the opportunity to move my feet right beside his in the sand beneath the driftwood. He did not move.

“Yes. Which, by the way, you are a master class in how to be with kids. They listen to you.”

My face went warm. “I’ve just had a lot of practice.”

“Right,” he said, instantly reticent. “That’s…That makes sense.”

“No, I didn’t mean…I just like kids. Not just because of foster care. I worked at the library and tutored and all that….”

“Oh, I know, I didn’t think—”

I laughed. “Hold up. Let’s— I won’t be careful if you’re not. Compliments just make me itch.”

“Okay.” He smiled, relieved. “To sum up: my dad’s dead, you’re in foster care, life is fucked, no walking on eggshells. Done.”

If my eyes weren’t truly bright before, they were dazzled as hell now. Infinitely more attractive than the mysterious and sensitive, emotionally scarred boy who lost his father but just can’t talk about it was the sensitive, emotionally mature boy who lost his father and admits it broke his heart and can freely appreciate how fucked up life can be.

He was the antidote to my cornball-insincerity allergy.