“Is that your boyfriend?” He points to my laptop’s wallpaper, a photo of my coworkers and me goofing around. It was taken before the midnight release of the latest fantasy-novel-to-film adaptation. Most of us were dressed like elves or wizards. “The one with his eyes closed?”

“WHAT?” He thinks I’d date a guy like Hercules? Hercules is an assistant manager. He’s ten years older than me and, yes, that’s his real name. And even though he’s sweet and knows more about Japanese horror films than anyone, he also has a ponytail.

A ponytail.

“Anna, I’m kidding. This one. Sideburns.” He points to Toph, the reason I love the picture so much. Our heads are turned into each other, and we’re wearing secret smiles, as if sharing a private joke.

“Oh. Uh . . . no. Not really. I mean, Toph was my almost-boyfriend. I moved away before ...” I trail off, uncomfortable. “Before much could happen.”

St. Clair doesn’t respond. After an awkward silence, he puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Provide for all.”

“What?” I’m startled.

“Tout pourvoir.” He nods at a pillow on my bed.The words are embroidered above a picture of a unicorn. It was a gift from my grandparents, and the motto and crest are for the Oliphant clan. A long time ago, my grandfather moved to America to marry my grandmother, but he’s still devoted to all things Scottish. He’s always buying Seany and me things decorated with the clan tartan (blue-and-green-checkered, with black and white lines). For instance, my bedspread.

“Yeah, I know that’s what it means. But how did you know?”

“Tout pourvoir. It’s French.”

Excellent. The Oliphant clan motto, drilled into my head since infancy, turns out to be in FRENCH, and I didn’t even know it. Thanks, Granddad. As if I didn’t already look like a moron. But how was I supposed to know a Scottish motto would be in French? I thought they hated France. Or is that just the English?