“Is that why you listen to all that true crime? You write crime stories?” “Maybe,” I say, drawing out the word. He holds up a branch to let me pass under it. It brings me close to him, and his interested gaze. “Is all of this research?” he asks. “Depends,” I say. “Do you want to get murdered and give me a story?” His eyes widen, and then he smiles. It lights up his tanned face. “By you? Any day.” I laugh to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. Stupid conversation. Stupid man. “Watch out, then.”
