“Jack Lancaster. Are you turning soft on me?” “No,” I grunt. This conversation is treading dangerously close to personal information territory. A discussion that goes well past coworkers and turns to I’d like to get to know you. Maybe we could get dinner sometime? Which, yeah, I really fucking do, but now’s not the time or the place. “Are you sure about that?” she asks. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” I would like to get to know Josephine Bowen. I’d like to hear about her dreams and her fears. Learn what keeps her up at night, because lately, she’s on my mind when I fall asleep, and I don’t know
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