Her concentration stays on the man in front of her, and I can’t help but feel a bit of jealousy. I know he’s dead and all, but damn, I’d like her attention on me. I think feeling the full impact of Zoey’s focus would feel like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud and shining down on me. Or at least, not having my lunch threatening to make a repeat appearance. I guess that’s my new bar of excellence.

“My grandpa was the coroner before me. I worked with him, took over when he passed.” Her answer is clipped and robotic, and I realize belatedly that she probably gets asked that regularly, and now I sound like some misogynistic neckbeard when I was just trying to make conversation.

Note to self, her job is probably not safe territory.

For her or my stomach.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The apology is automatic, but I am sorry she lost someone close to her. And that I’m stumbling over my tongue because I’m not used to this. People like me . . . women like me.

But Zoey?

She’s immune to whatever charms I might have, and it’s throwing me for a loop, and it’s not one of those fun roller coaster ones where you know that you’ll pull back into the unloading zone safe and sound in ninety seconds.

Nope, this is more like pulling G-force loops in an experimental fighter jet with no pilot license. She doesn’t acknowledge the apology, squinting at something inside the guy’s trunk.

Oh, God, is that an actual kidney? A burp tries to work its way up my throat, and I hold it back, not trusting it. Distract yourself, Blake! Don’t puss out!

I decide to go offensive and play a little hardball and also talk to keep things moving in the right direction. And by that, I mean down my esophagus with only air passing over my lips.

“Me?” I prompt, highlighting that it was her turn to ask me a question, but all I get is an answering sigh that fogs up her face shield. “Oh, I got into life insurance after college. Got a decent head for stats” —I tap my temple— “so it seemed fitting.”

“Good for you, Mr. Hale.”

“Blake,” I correct. “What else am I into? Glad you asked,” I say, sounding a bit game-show host-like. That does get the smallest hint of a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I’m still counting the small victory. “I work out with my best friend. His name’s Trey. I play co-ed rec soccer for the Silver Sun Pickups . . . have Sunday brunch with my family . . . play barroom trivia with a team at a pub near my apartment . . .” I search my mind, trying to figure out what else I do so I can continue my All About Blake TED talk, but that’s pretty much it.