Dustin made himself sit back. “There.” He put the napkin aside. “All better.”
“I'm not usually…” Greg's voice came out strange. Slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“Don't mention it.”
Greg picked up a fry with considerably more caution than he'd shown the burger. He bit into it, deemed it safe, and ate three more in quick succession.
Dustin watched him, wondering. Wondering how hot his face would get if Dustin?—
No.
He had to get his mind back on track.
He took a sip of his coffee and straightened.
“Okay,” he said. “Let's say I believe your story about reapers.”
Greg perked up. “You do?”
“I saidlet's say. Hypothetically. You're a reaper. You collect souls. You were assigned to collect mine, except I didn't die when I was supposed to. That's the story?”
“That's not a story. That's what happened.”
“Sure. So explain something to me.” Dustin leaned forward, elbows on the sticky table. “If I was supposed to die three days ago, why am I still here? Why am I having dinner at Lucky's Diner with my own personal grim reaper instead of, what, floating around in the afterlife?”
Greg looked uncomfortable. “I don't know,” he said. “That's what I'm tryingto figure out.”
“Great. So you're as clueless as I am.”
“I'm notclueless. I have theories.”
“Like what?”
Greg ate another fry, visibly stalling. “There are several possibilities. Interference from an external force. A clerical error in the records, which has never happened before, but theoretically could. A natural immunity to death, which isn't supposed to exist, but…”
“Natural immunity to death? That's a thing?”
“No. That's why I said it isn't supposed to exist.” Greg frowned. “You're very distracting.”
“I get that a lot.”
“It wasn't a compliment.”
“It's always a compliment.”
Greg's cheeks went pink again. He focused very intently on his fries.
“The point is,” he said, “something is preventing your death. I don't know what. I need to find out.”
“Why?”
“Because it's my job.”
“To kill me?”
“Tocollectyou.” He looked uncomfortable again.
Deeply uncomfortable.
