“Thank you for facing your fear for me tonight.” I tell Reese when he’s “safely” gotten me in the car, buckled me into the seat, and climbed in his side. He glances over at me from the driver’s seat and smirks, “Anything for you, Sweet Tart. But next time? Can we please just watch a movie about this shit so I don’t have a heart attack at twenty-two?” “Or maybe next time we bring actual ghost-hunting equipment so we’re prepared.” His expression turns panicked, and I laugh. “Just kidding.”
