My eyes light up at the mention of his mom. I have so many questions. “Your mom, huh?”

“Ah, that’s right,” he says. “The fashion student with a passion for shoes.”

“Guilty.”

He leans back and stretches an arm out behind me. “What about fashion drew you in?”

The corners of my lips twitch, as I’m unsure how to play this. There are lots of answers to this question, and I’m a little scared to share anything too precious—not just with Henry, but with the whole wide world. My relationship with my work at the moment is fragile at best. I’m not sure it could stand the scrutiny of a television audience. But…something about Henry’s unmoving, stable gaze compels me.

“Ever since I was a kid, I loved the way that clothing could transform you. I’ve…I’ve always been fat. Plump as my dad used to say. And people are so quick to make up their minds about me before I even open my mouth. My style is a chance for me to express myself and to maybe even make someone rethink their snap judgment. But that’s just a small part of it. I love the lines. I love that it’s art you can wear. I hate how inaccessible and distant art can feel, but you can walk into Target and walk out dressed as a piece of art. That’s something almost anyone can do.” I laugh a little to myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to drone on like that.”

“No.” He shakes his head as his thumb grazes the back of my neck, sending a wave of chills down my spine. “I…I’ve been around this industry my whole life, and it’s easy to feel burned out. Fresh perspective like that can be invigorating.”

“What about you?” I ask.

He sighs. “It’s the family business. I think I definitely have a sense of style, though my mother might say otherwise. But for me, I appreciate the utilitarianism of it all. Clothing is not only an art but a daily need. Not all industries have that same crossover, and I find it fascinating. Admittedly, I’m more involved on the business side of things, but I guess you could say I do have some design thoughts.”

“Oh, do you, now?”

He nods emphatically. “Yes, like who actually decided a button fly was a good idea, and is it actually safe to carry a hammer in the loop on a pair of carpenter jeans?”

“Ah, the hard-hitting questions. Watch out. You might just cause the entire industry to crumble.”

He smiles crookedly. “I hated fashion when I was younger.”

I throw my head back with a laugh—also hoping it will encourage him to touch my neck again. “Was that the big rebellion of your youth? Did you have a run-in with a bolt of taffeta as a child?”

He smirks. “Really? Going after my childhood now?” But there’s something in his voice that tells me I’ve hit a sensitive spot. “You should’ve seen me. I only wore black jeans and T-shirts in high school. The best reaction I got out of my mom was some speech about how even then I was making a fashion statement.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “She’s not wrong.”

“Your turn,” he says. “Tell me about your family.”

I’m pretty sure you already know my stepmom, I nearly say. “Well, my mom had ovarian cancer and passed away when I was a kid, so it was just my dad and me until he got remarried while I was in middle school. She already had two daughters, so we went from a family of two to a family of five. And now I have three little siblings too. Triplets, actually.”

“Whoa. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be part of a big family. And your mother…I’m sure she was wonderful.”

I nod, my shoulders sinking. He hasn’t even heard the rest of the sob story yet. “Dad passed away while I was in high school. It was sudden. And then just like that, my stepfamily became my only family.”

He flinches, and his voice is low and scratchy, almost like he wishes the cameras weren’t here anymore. “I’m so sorry. You must miss both of them so much.”

When Dad died, I heard so many people tell me they were sorry over and over again to the point that the word doesn’t even carry meaning anymore. It’s just a cloud of a word. You can hear it. You can see it. You just can’t feel it. But the way Henry tells me he’s sorry makes me feel like he would sacrifice something real for me to have a magical do-over and a second shot. But there’s no magic to be found in this story. No happily-ever-after.

“Thank you,” I say as I turn away from the cameras to quickly wipe one stray tear. The last thing I need is to ugly cry on television. I’d be the Girl Who Ugly Cried as quickly as I’m sure Jenny became the Girl Who Ate It Big-Time.

With one arm still behind me, Henry takes my hand in his free one and rubs soft circles into my palm. In this moment, it’s as relaxing as a full-body massage. And even though the whole world can see us holding hands, every little circle is a secret from the cameras. A private touch for only us. Now I understand completely what Sara Claire meant about the kiss on the cheek, and I can’t help but feel that little shadow of jealousy once again.

“Hey, y’all…” a voice softly interrupts.

I have to stop myself from audibly groaning.

Henry clears his throat and leans back. “Sara Claire. How are you?”

She smiles timidly, which is annoying, because Sara Claire is not timid, and what is she even doing? She had a whole date with him.

I can feel the absolutely absurd expression forming on my face as I try to look nice and polite while also sending her some kind of signal that says not now.

“Cindy darling, do you mind if I cut in?”

I look to Henry and his smile is stiff. “Sure,” I finally say, and stand up, my hand slipping from his. “All yours.”

I give Sara Claire what I hope is a meaningful look. I know we’re all here for the same reason, but it’s hard not to feel betrayed, especially after last night.

She giggles as she settles down beside him, fitting perfectly under his arm, and I hate that I hate her right now. It’s a disgusting feeling that goes against everything I thought I’ve ever believed about women empowering each other and lifting each other up. But maybe this show is too much of a feminist wasteland for anything like that to even be possible.

Closer to the house, I find Anna and Drew with Chloe, Jenny, and Stacy all huddled around an electric fire pit.