“Not if we text, darlin’.” Am I having a stroke? “Text?” I croak. “I didn’t peg you for a texter.” His nostrils flare as he maintains focus on the road ahead. “I could start if you’d like.” It’s official. I’m definitely dead because there’s no way this grizzly bear of a man who seems to like looking at me, but isn’t interested in talking to me, wants me to text him. It’s a seriously laughable thought. Though he’s not laughing. In fact, he’s right back to his natural stoic expression. “Yeah?” My corpse somehow forms words. “What would we text about?” “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
