“You make it sound like a children’s book.”
“You’re stalling,” he said, getting a plate out of the cabinet.
I really wanted that pretzel. “Fine. But let’s split the pretzel. I hope to be getting naked for a stranger soon, and I need to be in decent, non-baked-good shape.”
Wordlessly, he produced a second plate, then cut the doughy goodness into two equal halves.
I salivated as he put both plates in the microwave.
“Talk.”
“Okay, fine.” I planted myself on one of the stools he had parked under the peninsula. “So I match with this guy named Gary. According to his profile, he’s a pediatric nurse who enjoys reading, hiking, and spending time with his nieces and nephews.”
“Clearly he’s an asshole,” Lucian teased.
I ignored the jab and continued. “He sounds normal in his messages, so I agree to dinner. After the last fiasco that you had a front row seat to, Nash and Lina decided to go along as backup. They got a table near us, and small talk commences. He seems nice enough, but when I ask him about his job, he doesn’t seem to know anything about hospitals or nursing or children. He keeps asking me stuff like ‘How much money does a librarian make?’ and what kind of car I have and do I have any retirement savings.”
Lucian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The microwave dinged. He opened it, releasing the smell of cinnamony deliciousness.
“I’m definitely suspicious by this point, so I give Nash and Lina the sign, and they come running up and tell me my uncle Horace just fell off a ladder, and they whisk me away.”
He put one of the plates in front of me and dug two forks out of the utensil drawer.
I wasted no time yanking the lid off the caramel sauce and dipping my first bite in it. “Anyway, we’re on our way home, and Gary calls. I, of course, let it go to voicemail. Oh my God, this is divine,” I moaned as the flavors melted in my mouth.
Lucian took a smaller, more dignified bite of his half. “What did Gary have to say?”
I pulled out my phone. “Listen for yourself.”
I scrolled through my voicemails and pushed Play.
“Hey, Sloane. This is Gary. I just wanted to check in and see how your uncle is—Oh my God! Ahhh!” His voice was replaced with the sound of a revving engine, squealing tires, and finally a spectacular crash. Then the sound of static filled the kitchen.
Lucian shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”
“Go on. I know you’re dying to say it,” I said, gesturing with my fork.
“He’s scamming you.”
I held up a finger and pushed Play on the next message.
“Hey, uh, this is Vick Verkman, a friend of Gary’s. I don’t know how to tell you this, but Gary was in a terrible accident last night. He’s in a coma, and the hospital is threatening to unplug him unless someone pays his hospital bills. He keeps whispering your name.”
Lucian put down his fork. “Vick Verkman’s voice sounds a lot like Gary.”
“Oh, just wait,” I said, playing the next message.
“Sloane? This is Mercedes, Gary’s mom. I’m sorry to tell you that Gary passed away last night from injuries sustained in a car accident he had while worrying about you and your uncle. The funeral home is threatening to keep his body unless we pay them—”
I stopped the message and took another bite of soft pretzel.
Lucian rolled his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t send him money.”
I grinned. “I texted his ‘mom’ back and asked her where I could send the check. She suggested I write it out to Gary Jessup and mail it to his home address so his ‘estate could handle it.’”
“He gave you his real name and address after he faked his own death?”
“Yep. It made it easy to report him to the app and track down his employment so I could send a funeral arrangement of flowers with my condolences to him there.”
“Where does he work?” Lucian asked, picking up his fork again.
I swirled warm pretzel through the caramel puddle on the plate. “For one of those skeezy debt collection places. You know the kind. They buy medical or mortgage debt for pennies on the dollar and then try to collect on it by harassing people. I think it was called Morganstern Credit Corporation.”
Lucian said nothing as he took another bite. He was eating standing up, leaning against the sink, the counter between us.
“What? No ‘You’re so undesirable men fake their own deaths to get away from you’ jokes?” I asked.