“Yes?” he answers. I don’t see him, just an open book hiding his face, but at a weird angle that makes it hard to read the title. He’s at the kitchen counter with his phone, most likely propped against a beer bottle. “Whatcha reading? Maybe I can tell you how the story ends.” He eyes me over the top of the book with a single peaked brow. “Is it a mystery?” “No.” “Fantasy?” “No.” “Romance?” “No.” I sigh. “I give up.” He lowers the book. “Have you read a lot of books about World War II generals? What are the chances of you being able to spoil the ending?” “I’ve read zero books about World War II
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