She blinked. “What?”
“The car in my pictures. It’s mine.”
Her expression changed. “And my parents aren’t poor.”
Silence.
“My dad owns three businesses. My mom is an accountant.”
Chloe stared at me. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“And the van?”
“My uncle’s.”
“The garbage bags?”
I looked at them. “Apparently my mother’s commitment to performance art.”
Chloe laughed. Not a polite laugh. A relieved one. That was what got me.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You scared me.”
I went still. “Why?”
She immediately realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what?”
She looked away.
I stepped closer. “Why would my parents being poor scare you?”
“It wouldn’t.”
“Then what were you scared of?”
She rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I just didn’t want things to get awkward.”
“With what?”
“Money.”
I almost laughed. “You’ve spent two months asking me about money.”
“Because I thought we had similar backgrounds.”
