He takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s try that again. Gonna keep these fog lights on, if that’s okay with you.”

“Definitely.”

We press forward through the inky darkness. We maneuver around another car that’s parked in the middle of the lane. Then we approach a black sedan whose nose aims sharply away from us. It’s not until we’re halfway beyond that I see it has busted through the guardrail, that the car’s nose hangs off the bridge precariously. I imagine the dark cold water far below.

“Paige, if a walker jumps in front of this car, I’m going to run right over it. No swerving, no nothing. Just lay on the gas.”

“Good,” I say with vehemence.

I have a sudden urge to grab his hand and squeeze, but he needs both hands for the steering wheel, so I don’t.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“About what?”

“Anything. Frankly, this is terrifying, and I don’t want to think too hard about what might happen tonight, so talk to me. I like your voice.”

“Okay.” I like his voice too. Deep and resonant, always gentle. I should tell him back. Last night, I should have specifically told him that I want to kiss him too. I’m not sure why that kind of thing is so hard for me.

What I say is “Have I told you about my bio-dad? Ryan and I called him the Sperm Donor.”

“You’ve mentioned him. When was the last time you saw him?”

“Four years ago he showed up to my eighth-grade graduation uninvited.” I still remember the shock on my mother’s face, the way Ryan tried to shield himself with my body, how Paul was the one who stepped forward and shook my dad’s hand, his grip firm, his smile grim, as if saying: Make no mistake, I will not let you harm them.