Except I’d call it worrying rather than thinking, most of the time, so I hope Samantha’s not like me, for her sake. My brain doesn’t know when to shut up. I bet you I can think up twenty worst-case scenarios before you could even think of one.” “Never been one for worst-case scenarios,” Jackson says. He crouches to dip his roller in the tray; his wrists are flecked with paint now, new, brighter freckles. “When they happen, you cope. And it’s usually one you’ve not thought of that gets you, so why worry?”
