“Nah, just pests. Really weird pests,” he mumbled.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved cooking, that he was good at it, but then she would ask why he stopped. He wasn’t a liar. He would tell anybody who directly asked. It was a pretty idiotic crime in the scheme of things. Elijah preferred to get a little further along before revealing what a dumb motherfucker he was.

One day, if he saved enough dough, he could open his own restaurant and then there wouldn’t be any more background checks. But today he hunted ghosts, and he couldn’t disclose that thanks to a non-disclosure agreement and the extreme odds of her laughing.

“Nursing. That’s cool, though. You must be an adrenaline junkie to do around here. Where I’m from, they call that job security,” he said, making an imaginary marquee in the air. “You probably look cute in scrubs.”