“What about you? How’s your relationship with your parents?”

I’d known the question was coming, but I still wasn’t fully prepared for it. I’d been around for twenty-two years, and I still was never ready for when people asked me about my family. It wasn’t due to my discomfort with the subject. Long ago, I’d come to terms with what had happened to me and how I grew up. What bothered me the most, though, when I told others was the pitying looks they’d give me. It always seemed as if they were filled with guilt, as if they were the reason I didn’t have a family.

“I grew up in the foster care system. I never knew my parents.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment and looked down at his hands. When he looked back up at me, he didn’t radiate that pity I was so used to seeing in others’ eyes after said discovery. Instead, he asked, “How did that affect you?”

I was so taken aback by his comment. No one had ever asked me that before after finding out I grew up in the foster system. Most people gave me the cliché apologies then told me I deserved the biggest kind of love. They’d mention that we create our own families in life, and the beginning doesn’t equate with the ending. All good and fair responses. They never bothered me any.

Captain’s words hit me a bit differently. It felt like a heavy question, but at the same time a very honest one. I wasn’t certain if I liked it or not.

“The truth or the nice lie?” I asked.

He looked out toward the city lights before turning back to me. “The truth. Always the truth.”

“It gave me trust issues, sprinkled with a dash of codependency. I hate to admit it, but I think I dream of love more than most people. Not even a romantic kind of love, but any kind of love. Love from my friends, love and admiration from my professors, from my boss. I want people to like me…to love me. Because somewhere in my head, I connected the idea that the number of people who love you is what makes you a worthy person.”

“You’re a people-pleaser.”

“To the extreme. In my freshman year of college, I failed my first history test, and I cried the whole weekend. The following Monday, I took the professor blueberry muffins during his office hours, because he’d mentioned once that they were his favorite. I apologized for failing, and I’ll never forget what he said to me. He looked at me and said that failing the exam was in no way an indication of me being a failure. I still struggle with that, the idea that one life failure doesn’t make me a failure.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Red.”

“How can you tell? You just met me about an hour ago.”

“I think you can know a person based on the first few minutes you meet them if you look closely enough.”

“Is that what you do? You read people?”

“Yeah. It comes in handy for the industry I’m in. I have to get a quick grip on who my clients are when it comes to real estate, so I know which persona I should present to them.”

“You put on a different mask with everyone? That sounds exhausting.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Everyone wears different masks on a regular basis. Some people simply aren’t aware of it. Also, I like to think of the masks as different versions of the same person. Humans are complex, complicated. We are so much more than just one mask.”

The more he spoke, the more I dreaded the fact I wouldn’t get any more of his words after tonight.

He brushed his thumb across the bridge of his nose. “What was the nice lie? To my question about how being in the foster system affected you?”

“Oh.” I sat up a bit straighter and gave him a big, fake smile. “My upbringing had no effect on my life. I believe we create our own life stories. The past doesn’t define us.”

“I see that it’s a lie in your eyes.”

I turned to look out into the night. “That probably means you’re looking too closely.”

“Can’t help it. Looking at you feels like the best choice I’ve made in a while.”

I laughed, trying to play off the butterflies he was sending through me. “Is that a line you use on all the girls?”

“Nah, but seeing how it made you blush, I might start,” he teased.

“Well, you’re going to have to try harder. I’m not blushing—my cheeks are just cold.”

He raised an alarmed brow. “We can go inside. It is a bit—”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to find a lie to cover up the fact that I’m blushing.”

“You’re beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed at his abrupt statement. “Shut up. You already got me to blush. No need to dig deeper.”