Ria was going to murder me when she found out I died while she was on her honeymoon. She’d be so pissed. I’d never hear the end of it, especially if the whole afterlife thing turned out to be real. She’d hunt me down the second she got there. We’d made a pact eight years ago to pass away in our sleep together, holding hands, in the retirement home we’d spent a decade wreaking awesome havoc on. Like the chaotic best friend version of The Notebook.
The type of friendship we all need
