“Why?”

She lets out a heavy breath before saying, “It just sounds like she has some issues going on, and I wonder what you really know about her.”

I take a moment because all I want to do is defend this girl. Truth is, I know she has issues. I’m not blind to the odd behavior I catch glimpses of and the couple of things that Jase and Mark have said about her. But whatever is going on, I don’t think it could ever be enough to keep me away. So, I bypass my mom’s concerns and leave it at, “She’s special. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but she’s important to me.”

I can almost hear my mother’s smile when she says, “Well, then she’s important to me too.”

“She’s a good girl, but her walls aren’t that easy to break down.”

“Sometimes it isn’t about breaking walls, dear. Sometimes it’s simply about proving yourself to the other person that they’re willing to just let them down.”

My mom’s support is a constant in my life, and I’m grateful that I can depend on that from her.

“Thanks, Mom.”

There’s no doubt she’s nervous when she gets into my car and I start driving up to Shoreline to her parents’ house. She doesn’t speak as she sits there, looking all proper in her plum, knee-length dress and black high heels. She hardly ever wears jewelry or makeup, she doesn’t need to—she’s perfect. But I don’t like seeing her so worried.

“Relax,” I tell her.

“Ryan. You need to know that—”

“Candace, relax.”

“They’re just very judgmental people,” she warns.

“There is nothing that they can say that I haven’t heard before,” I tell her. If anyone can deal with people who degrade you, it’s me. I spent my whole childhood listening to a father telling me, every way he could, what a piece of shit I was. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is I’m about to walk into. But it isn’t me I’m worried about, it’s her.

When I pull into the gates of The Highlands, an upscale affluent community, I look over at Candace and lay my hand over the two of hers that are clenched tightly together. I weave through the neighborhood and when she points to the house, I pull into the drive and shut the car off. She doesn’t open the door or move in any way. She sits, and I let her take her time.

After a few moments pass, I ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she sighs and then opens the door.

Walking up to the large, two-story home that overlooks the Sound, she takes a deep breath before opening the front door. We walk in, and I take in my surroundings. I knew that she came from money—I do too—but there’s a big difference between affluent and wealthy. This is wealth.

“Bunny,” her father beams as he walks through the foyer with his arms out to pull her into a hug. From his demeanor, you would never expect the family drama that lies underneath the surface. My father was the same way. No one would ever suspect the violent man that he was behind closed doors.

He takes a step back from Candace and turns to me. He wears a tailored charcoal suit and has almost polished, silver hair. “And you must be Ryan. Thanks for joining us,” he says to me, shaking my hand.

“Good to meet you, sir.”

“Come in,” he says as he leads us back through the formal living room and into the kitchen. He turns to Candace, and tells her, “Your mother is finishing getting ready. She should be out shortly.”

She only smiles up at him.

“What can I get you two to drink?” he asks.

“A beer is good, Mr. Parker,” I say to him.

“Please, call me Charles.”

With drinks in hand we make our way back to their library that spans the two stories of the house with a large walk-in fireplace.

I sit next to Candace on the tucked leather couch as her father asks, “So, Ryan, what is it that you do?”

“I own a bar right off campus,” I tell him as Candace shifts nervously at my side.

“Oh, how did you get into that type of work?”

I briefly explain how I acquired the business after I graduated from UW, and he follows along, nodding his head.

“What did you study in college?” he asks before taking a sip of his scotch.

“Finance.”

“Now that’s a respectable degree,” I hear, and when I turn my head, I see a petite woman with shoulder-length, brown hair, wearing a dress similar to Candace’s, only in navy. But where Candace is more reserved, there isn’t a question about her mother’s social standing by the way she carries herself in a much too proud manner as she walks across the room, almost demanding attention.

Candace stands to give her mom a stiff hug.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Good to see you, darling,” she drawls before turning to me. “And Ryan, welcome.”

I step closer and take her hand, saying, “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course. It isn’t every day that our daughter brings a man home,” she says in a patronizing tone, and I look over to see Candace rolling her eyes as we sit down.

“Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns,” her father announces.

“A bar?” she questions as if the words have a bad taste to them. She has no idea that the bar I own has afforded me an extremely comfortable lifestyle.

Before she can continue, Candace jumps in and changes the subject, asking about her parents’ upcoming trip to Aspen.

Candace and I sit back and listen to their plans before her father excuses himself and Candace takes me to show me around the house.

We walk outside to the backyard and look at the view of the Sound.

“I’m sorry about that,” Candace says softly as we take a seat on one of the benches.

“About what?”

She looks at me with apology. “They can be a lot. They’re pretty pretentious.”

“Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone’s flawed in some way.”

I slip my arm over her shoulders as she tightens the scarf around her neck.

“So, you grew up here in Shoreline?” I ask.

“Yeah. In this very house. The Kelleys, who live across the street, have a daughter that’s the same age as me. We used to be best friends when we were growing up.”

“And now?”

“And now all I really have is Jase, Mark . . . and you,” she tells me and knowing that she sees me as someone she can at least group with Jase and Mark gives me a little relief.

“What about your roommate?”

“Kimber? We used to be really close, but not so much anymore.”

“So what happened to all your friends from high school?” I ask, curious as to why she secludes herself in a manner that prevents her from having more people in her life.

“They’ve moved on. Applying to grad schools, getting married, making a life for themselves. Most of the kids here wind up becoming people like my parents. More concerned about their image and what social circle they’re in. It’s not me, so I never cared enough to stay in touch with anyone.”

I see how her parents could be upset that she doesn’t seem to follow suit with their expectations. That Candace would be driven enough to step out of that life to create a new one, a more comfortable one, for herself. She’s ambitious in a way that’s unique from her parents. Following a passion—dance—to build a life that she can find pleasure in.

“We should go back inside,” she tells me, and when we walk in, her father calls from the other room, “Candace, could you come in here?”

“Yeah, just a second.” She looks at me and says, “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” she assures before heading back to the library.

I take this time to stroll aimlessly through the house. Walking into the formal living room, I scan the framed photos that are displayed on the black grand piano. Family portraits through the years. Candace as a young girl, wearing a frilly white dress with white gloves, searching for Easter eggs on the greens of a golf course. A picture-perfect family, but from what little I have picked up from Jase, she was miserable. But out of all the photos, none of her dancing.