Page 29 of You'll Be the Death of Me

“You’re tellingme.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Great question.” She folded her hands in her lap like she would normally, which felt very out of place with Robbie’s lanky, masculine body, but nonetheless, she was ready to discuss next steps. “Cole?” she said, and nodded at him. “What’s next?”

Cole stepped in front of their bench.

Jason followed Dell’s gaze to the empty space. “His name is Cole?”

“Yes. He’s a transition specialist, and he’s here to fix this.”

“Hmm,” Jason hummed, and narrowed his eyes. Dell could sense him judging the invisible man in front of them. “Is he hot?”

She sputtered. “Jason.”

“What? I’m just trying to get a visual here since I can’t see him.”

“Well, he can hear everything you are saying, and I don’t see what his appearance has to do with anything.”

Dell averted her eyes as Cole blushed to the tips of his ears again. Even if it was true, she wasn’t about to admit the answer to Jason’s question was a resoundingyes.

“Well, can I at least get a description?” Jason asked. “An age range, even? Are we talking, like, Morgan Freeman as God, or, like, a Backstreet Boy in his prime?”

Dell grumbled, knowing he wouldn’t give up until she gave him something. She looked at Cole and tried to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. He was intently studying the lawn and avoiding eye contact. She traced the outline of his face, his jawline, the flip of his tousled hair moving in the breeze. “He’s... tall,” she offered.

“Tall?” Jason said in a dissatisfied tone. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“Oh my God,Jason, can we concentrate on the matter at hand here, please?”

“Yes! As soon as you give me an adequate description. You know I’m a visual learner.”

“Fine. He’s tall, probably taller than you. He has dark hair and eyes. Clean-shaven. I’d guess he’s a few years older than us. He’s wearing a tie and button-down with rolled sleeves; both are loose. His socks are argyle, but they don’t match. He looks like a poetry professor had a love child with a Jane Austen hero. There. Are you happy?”

She wanted to melt into the bench. She risked a glance at Cole, the man she’d just completely objectified in front of his face. A flush still clung to his cheeks, darker now, but his lips turned up at one corner. He caught her eye, and she couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her mouth.

“Is that true? Were you a poetry professor?” she sheepishly asked, still wanting to melt.

“I wish I knew, but I doubt it. I’m not good at rhyming.”

“Poems don’t have to rhyme. In fact, some of the best ones don’t.”

He met her eyes again and softly smiled. That mysterious spark she’d felt when she’d yanked him into her doorway earlier came back for a fleeting moment.

Jason’s hand suddenly appeared in front of her face. He loudly snapped his fingers. “I hate to interrupt whatever this moment is, but remember I can only hear one side of this conversation.”

Dell shook herself. “Sorry. He said he doesn’t know if he was a poetry professor, but he doubts it because he’s bad at rhyming.”

“Hmm. Well, good thing he doesn’t need to write a poem to bring you back to life.”

With a hard blink, Dell remembered that’s what they were hereto discuss. “Good thing. And on that note, we have three days to identify somewrong turnI took in life, and that will undo it.”

“Wrong turn?” Jason asked.

“Supposedly,” she said with a shrug. “While we work on that, I need you to stop them from taking me to the morgue because my body was just carted off by the coroner.”

“Okay, how do we do that?” Jason said with the same determination that flowed in Dell’s veins.

“I don’t know, stall?” she offered.