“Hello, future wife,” he said, his voice bubbling with glee. “I can’t wait to get started on the rest of our lives!” Dimple stared at him for the longest minute. The only word her brain was capable of producing, in various tonal permutations, was: What? What? Dimple didn’t know what to think. Serial killer? Loony bin escapee? Strangely congenial mugger? Nothing made sense. So she did the only thing she could think to do in the moment—she flung her iced coffee at him and ran the other way.
