Butterflies In My Stomach Quotes

Every butterfly in the world has migrated to my stomach.

Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) One time. When I met ya girl my heart when knock (knock knock) Now them butterflies in my stomach won't stop (stop stop) Even love is a struggle and it's all we got. So we gun keep keep climbing to the mountain top. 'Cause your world, is my world, and my breath is your breath, and my heart is yours...

I smiled back as he walked away, but all the lovely butterflies in my stomach landed one by one in a cold, dead heap.

Oh, God. I'm in big trouble. Because I'm staring. I can't keep my eyes from ogling his chiseled triceps and biceps and every other "eps ' he has. The butterflies in my stomach have just multiplied tenfold as my wandering gaze meets his.

Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. "Hey, it's... it's okay." I patted her back. I was aware of everything in the room. I felt like I could read the tiniest print on any book on the shelves. Annabeth's hair smelled like lemon soap. She was shivering.

Oh right. What about Wendy?" I ask "What about her?" "It's her birthday, too. I'm the worst friend ever. I should have sent her something. Did you exchange gifts?" "Not yet." He turns toward me. "But she gave me the perfect gift." The way he's looking at me sends butterflies into my stomach. "What?" "You.

Yeah, they’re just matches,” I continued, my voice growing thick with tears. “And memories and smells and sounds and butterflies in my stomach every time I heard the car door slam outside, telling me that he was home. A thousand dreams of all the places I’d have adventures someday.

It was a completely new feeling for me–like someone had just released a million, tiny butterflies loose in my stomach, and they were feverishly flying up into my head and making me lose my mind.

He winks at me, and the surge of butterflies in my stomach is so strong I think I may throw up right there. I need something to calm my nerves. The most obvious remedy is more alcohol. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing.

Why do you call me Dominic?" he asked me, ignoring my question and my trembling. My mind was getting all mushy, and my stomach was fluttering with butterflies. "Because it's your name." He grinned. "Everyone calls me Nico though, only my brothers call my Dominic." I shrugged. "I'm not like everyone else.

There weren't butterflies in my stomach, there were fire breathing dragons.

she had attempted to poison me. Believe me when I say this woman gave me butterflies in my stomach. Though that might just be internal bleeding. Either way, she had charmed me.

Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted. "No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full - of butterflies.

He grinned at me again, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into dragons and laid waste to my innards.

A flock of butterflies riots in my stomach and steals my breath.

But Rachel, every time you hurt, I hurt. Particularly, when I'm the cause of it. I've been an insensitive jerk. But I need you to know that you are all I can think about. That you give me freaking butterflies in my stomach. That when we're together I feel like...” “Cloud walking.” Rachel grinned.

Okay, so I admit that the first day of school I was so nervous that the butterflies in my stomach were more like pigeons flying around my insides.

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine." Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors.

You’ll be my girlfriend?” he asked. Butterflies were throwing a party in my stomach. “If that’s what you want.” “I want.” Remy grinned.

As i crawled up the bed to sit beside him, my pterodactyl butterflies somersaulted in my stomach. Good God, he was gorgeous and i was in bed with him.

The butterflies in my stomach turn into vampire bats as we pull up to the school.

Alternatives to “Bae” The one who wins all of the arguments, the keeper of the remote, the girl who turns my stomach into a butterfly nest, the pink Starburst, the one I will always choose first no matter what else is in the pack, the red Kool-Aid, the right amount of sugar, the pulp, the part that makes the juice seem real.

I never got over that," he murmured, breaking away just long enough for a breath. I slid my hands up his chest. "What?" "How well you kiss. Over the last seven years," he went on, resting his forehead against mine, "I went on so many dates, I kissed so many people, I tried to fall in love again and again, and all I could think about was you." I wasn't sure what to say. "All seven years?" "Two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days. Not that I was counting," he added, because clearly he had been, and that made the butterflies in my stomach awfully happy. Seven years—seven whole years.

Butterflies catch fire in my stomach. An inexplicable humiliation is searing my flesh. I don’t know where to look.

Hey, we’re your friends. We wouldn’t miss it.” “But . . .” She stopped herself. “What is it?” I asked. “The prophecy?” “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said in a small voice. “What was the last line?” Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. “Hey, it’s . . . it’s okay.

I reached for a Coca-Cola. “Want some?” I asked. “I do not drink caffeine,” he said. “Wow, you make me look like a bad girl; that's hard to do.” He cracked a big smile for the first time I'd seen, and a huge dimple appeared in his right cheek. A butterfly wing flapped in my stomach. I turned my attention back to the drinks, fumbling a little for a cup. “Don't let me pressure you,” I said. “I was only kidding. We don't need you all hyped up on caffeine. How about ginger ale instead?" “Is that drink not only for upset stomachs?

Something light and velvety brushed against my heart…and fluttered. Just once, but it was enough for me to identify it. A butterfly. No, no, no. I loved animals, I truly did, but I could not have a butterfly living in my stomach. Not for Rhys Larsen. It needed to die immediately.

My pulse is buzzing and my stomach is a riot of butterflies and half-digested peanut butter cookies.

I don't tell him I couldn't have gorged if I'd tried, my stomach stuffed full of butterflies and grown-up worries.

Butterflies sprout in my stomach, and I decide they’re fucking drunk, too.

I’m not nervous, but I have butterflies in my stomach. Or at least I will, because I just swallowed a bunch of caterpillars.

Believe me when I say this woman gave me butterflies in my stomach. Though that might just be internal bleeding. Either way, she had charmed me.

get butterflies in my stomach when I’m with you. First time it happened, I thought I was hungry or something. But I wasn’t. It was just you.

I choose you,” I say, feeling the butterflies in my stomach at the way his eyes devour my chest. He’s starving, and I want to be his offering. I’d willingly be his sacrifice. Make me yours.

Tomorrow we would reach Skyfell, and I slept soundly that night. I wasn’t sure if it was because I had a full stomach or because a certain SwordBrother slept closer to my bedroll than normal.

How did you find me?" "I always know where you are, every moment.Five years ago you said you needed time, and I gave it to you. But I've never left you. I never will." There was a gentle finality to his words, an echo of the resolve in his mind. Savannah's heart lurched. "Don't do this, Gregori. You know how I feel. I've created a new life for myself." His hand,gentle in her hair, sent butterflied rising in her stomach. "You cannot change what you are. You are my lifemate, and it is time for you to come to me.

You are the thing that the poets write about, you are what the choir of angels is singing about, you are the thing that clouds part above and the sun beams down upon. You're every butterfly, in every stomach. You're my every tender thought.

We sat down and I could feel my breathing quicken as the butterflies returned to dance in my stomach.

There was no way those things in my stomach were butterflies. The beating wings in my stomach definitely belonged to an eagle.

I pondered what I had to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. My dad was fighting a war. My mother was fighting her emotions. And me? I was fighting my fear to approach the first boy who ever gave me butterflies in my stomach every time I thought of him.

The feeling I’d felt was so foreign to me. It was nothing like butterflies in my stomach. It was like dragons. Fierce, intense, and powerful. I’d never felt that before with another person. I’d never felt connected to something so strongly. I’d wondered if he felt it, too.

Michael leaned in, his voice turning low and heavy. “And how about me?” I swallowed, still studying my drink. What song described him? What band? That was like trying to pick one food to eat for the rest of your life. “Disturbed,” I said, naming the band and still looking down at the glass. He said nothing. Only remained still before finally sitting back and tipping his drink up to his lips. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and I kept my breathing even. “Drowning Pool, Three Days Grace, Five Finger Death Punch,” I continued, “Thousand Foot Krutch, 10 Years, Nothing More, Breaking Benjamin, Papa Roach, Bush…” I paused, exhaling nice and slow despite the way my heart drummed. “Chevelle, Skillet, Garbage, Korn, Trivium, In This Moment…” I drifted off, peace settling over me as I looked up at him. “You’re in everything.

I can't help it, I run up to him and put my arms around him. Shocked he pulls away, just a little because my arms are still around him and he lifts my head to look at him and kisses me. "And you've been trying to act like you aren't interested." he says while smiling that smile that makes butterflies suddenly appear in multitudes in my stomach.

And the third is from him: "Second date?" I immediately text him back: "Hell yeah!" Then I collapse on my bed and enjoy that "butterflies in the stomach" feeling. I've felt the butterflies before from time to time, but this is the first time I haven't sort of wanted to attack them with a flyswatter.

I can't tell you what love is, I really don't know that there's a concrete definition for it. But I can tell you what love is to me. When I was younger it was the way I got butterflies in the pit of my stomach every time your name was mentioned, it was the way my mind only wanted to think of you; daydream of you. The way I yearned for you and laughed louder when I was with you. You made me feel safe, cherished and happy despite my unhappiness. (...) Love is knowing that one day when I'm old and my body aches, my heart won't, because I'll be with you.

What's Luke doing here?" He kept the Harley steady while I got off. He swung his leg over and stood up, removing his helmet and gloves. "I called him from Jason's place. He's going to help us get your stuff moved over." "Wow." A laugh bubbled on my lips, surprising me after the heartbreak I'd experienced at Wyatt's house. "You don't waste any time." "Nope." He tipped his head with a cocky grin that launched butterflies in my stomach. "Don't want to wait for you to come to your senses.

I wonder if this is what falling in love sounds like. Like butterfly wings in my ears and trumpets in my stomach and like the pound of bass in my chest.

Beautiful butterflies flap their delicate wings in my abdomen before I clench my abs and drown them in stomach acid.

His low, gravelly voice tickles my ear, sending the butterflies in my belly into overdrive. In fact, they may have exploded. My stomach is now a butterfly graveyard.

In the pit of my stomach, a nest of butterflies were born and began drinking energy drinks.

The chrysalis moves in my solar plexus fulfilling its mission to quietly emerge... then I see you and a thousand butterflies migrate into my heart.

What if the butterflies flew too close to the edge of my stomach, so he could see the imprints of their wings pressed up against my skin?

There aren’t butterflies in my stomach. No soft pitter-patters  of flapping wings or gentle flips. Instead, he causes an inferno, raging through my system and disintegrating me.

The sweetness of his breath whispering past my cheek and ear, as his soft, sure lips warmly grace my skin, makes my stomach feel like a thousand dainty butterflies swirled into flight.

I know I need to put my mouth on those pretty lips and kiss you,” he said with so much conviction, it felt like a swarm of butterflies had been let loose in my stomach. “Do you know that, too?

So…” I start. “I… You wanted me to stop by?” Just so we’re clear, he’s still melting my insides with a single look, and I’m still a babbling idiot who can’t form a sentence. Xavier moves closer to me, a single whiff of his cologne enough to make my knees buckle. “No,” he shocks me by saying. My jaw hangs limply. “I wanted you to come and stay,” he corrects, and a herd of murderous butterflies assault my stomach. “Stay tonight?” He moves closer again. “Forever,” he says unapologetically. I avoid his gaze. “Xav, I—” “Don’t fucking go, Vee.” He cuts to the chase, cupping my face in his hands without a single thought as to the possibility of people seeing us. “I know this is shitty, and complicated, and it’d be easier for you to get on that plane, but… I don’t want easy—fuck easy. I want you. I love you, Vee,” he croaks, pressing his forehead flush to mine. “Just… stay.

And then he leaned forward and my stomach collapsed, taking in that last breath. I closed my eyes and watched in awe as all the butterflies flew up into the sky, free, mingling with the exploding lights.

I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched." Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. "No, child", she said gently, patting my back. "That's romance. Romance is build on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you're not careful, you might mistake it for bein' boring because it's so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath.

He was my date. I got a massage, and I must have taken five aspirins to calm myself down. In the restaurant, I saw him from across the room, and I got such butterflies in my stomach and such a thing that went from head to toe. He had like a halo around his head of stars to me. He projected something I have never seen in my life…. when I’m with him I’m in awe, and I don’t know why I can’t snap out of it…. I can’t think. He’s so fascinating….

From the moment I said it, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. My Ryder instincts and my Ryder conscience needed to get it together. One refused to let me back down, while the other condemned my actions in not doing so.

[...] “What were you going to do if he’d refused ?” Jaenelle looked at him and smiled. Butterflies filled his stomach and tickled unmercifully before turning into heavy, sinking stones. “Well,” his darling said, “you have a wonderful deep voice too. So if Papa refused, I was going to ask you.” Saetan walked into the sitting room where he’d asked Geoffrey and Draca, the Keep’s Seneschal, to meet him. “My friends, this bottle of wine arrived this evening, compliments of Prince Sadi. Since it came from the wine cellar at the Hall, I can assure you it is a very fine vintage, one best enjoyed when shared.” He called in three glasses and opened the wine. Draca said nothing until he handed her a glass. “What iss the occassion ?” Saetan grinned. “My son has just realized how much his father loves him.

I think it’s time to go ahead and start, don’t you? We don’t want them to have enough time to make a trip back to shore with her.” Galen swims to within an inch of my face. His lazy grin sends a thousand butterflies whipping up a tornado in my stomach. “Start what? The rescue, or the rest of our lives together?” Just the words make my heart jump, let alone the look he gives me when he says it. We haven’t had much time to talk about what all this means for us, but at least I know we can be together. On our own terms, in our own time. Finally. “Both,” I breathe. “This is not the time to be all mushy,” Rayna calls from below us. “I swear you two are expert time wasters. So inconsiderate.” Galen winks at me and dives to his sister. “Wait,” I call to him. He stops. “I just wanted to say, I like your big fin. I think it’s sexy.” Which is the truth. Now t’s more than double the size of any other Syrena. I know he’s self-conscious about it; he thinks it makes him stand out more. What Galen doesn’t realize is that he already stood out. He was already special. This new fin doesn’t change anything. Well, except for making me hotter for him than I already was. “Really?” Galen says. I nod and blow him a kiss. By his confused expression, he has no idea what I’m doing. My Syrena human ambassador still has a lot to learn about the intimate details of the human world. And I’ll be happy to assist him with that.

The butterflies are working their way up from my stomach into my head, making me feel dizzy, and I try to calm myself by imagining the ocean outside, its ragged breathing, the seagulls turning pinwheels in the sky. It will be over soon, I tell myself. It will be over soon and then you’ll go home, and you’ll never have to think about the evaluation again.

What if I promise to keep my pants on?” The smile in his voice had butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She stared up at the ceiling. “Fine. But you’ll have to leave mine on, too.” “Well, shit.” His laughter warmed her all over. “You drive a hard bargain.” “I’m all about hard things.” She ran her tongue along her teeth. “You do have that effect on me.

My thoughts shock me. There's a desperate heat in the pit of my stomach I wish I could ignore. There are butterflies in my chest I wish I could explain away. There's an ache in my core that I'm unwilling to name. Beautiful. He's so beautiful>. I must be insane.

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine.” Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors. “Thanks. You can borrow them. You need them more than I do,” I said pointedly. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, and I almost fell to the floor in shock. Tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts. Alex’s hand trailed up my spine until it rested on the back of my neck, leaving a cascade of tingles in their wake. “I feel it dripping all over me.” He did not—what? An inferno consumed my body. “You’re—you—no, I’m not!” I sputtered, pushing him away and scrambling off him. My core pulsed. Oh my God, what if I was? I couldn’t look, afraid I’d see a telltale wet spot on his jeans. I’d have to move to Antarctica. Build myself an ice cave and learn to speak penguin because I could never show my face in Hazelburg, D.C., or any city where I could run into Alex Volkov again. His chuckle blossomed into a full-blown laugh. The effect of his real smile was so devastating, even amid my mortification, that all I could do was stare at the way his face lit up and the sparkle that transformed his eyes from beautiful to downright breathtaking. Holy crap. Perhaps I should be grateful he never smiled, because if that was what he looked like while doing it…womankind didn’t stand a chance. “I’m talking about your bleeding heart,” he drawled. “What did you think I was talking about?” “I—you—” Forget Antarctica. I had to move to Mars. Alex’s laughter subsided, but the twinkle in his eyes remained.

But there's something else following right behind. It's a sinking feeling that settles into my stomach in the place where those butterflies were fluttering earlier, like someone just threw a bunch of gravel on top of them, smothering out their fire, destroying their wings.

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine.” Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors. “Thanks. You can borrow them. You need them more than I do,” I said pointedly. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, and I almost fell to the floor in shock. Tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts. Alex’s hand trailed up my spine until it rested on the back of my neck, leaving a cascade of tingles in their wake. “I feel it dripping all over me.

Touch was absolutely out of the question. I couldn’t stop sweating. My heart, a butterfly pinned to a glacier. Empires fell inside my mouth. I touched myself like a pogrom & broke my sex into a history of inconsequential shames. I wept viciously inside of my own stomach & had it condemned. From an upside-down bell I drank silence, subsisted on the memory of someone else’s hands. Wolves sang & I did not answer. I forgot their names. Mornings were the worst, then there were days & evenings. Streetlights & darkened sycamore & suburban grief so full it made me foolish. I shattered my fist on the Lord’s jaw. Sorrow sat, licking my wrists & my neck. I slept at its convenience. O, uncelebrated body. My penis, a lighthouse on the bottom of the ocean, shining shadows at the undersides of boats. Nobody drowned for so many years. Desperate for the making of those candy-throated ghosts, I found the rooms between the violence of comets. I threw myself into anything’s path. Even the sky bent around me. How lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill. (So I Locked Myself Inside A Star for Twenty Years)

My stomach was so full of butterflies and other insects with busy, brushing wings—entirely appropriate under the circumstances, I couldn’t help but think!—that I could hardly fall asleep. And when at last I did, I know I slept lightly. As if I remembered, even in my slumber, that I had a dream beneath my pillow that I did not wish to crush.

No part of me believes," I say, "that you struggle with first impressions." He brushes his thick hair up off his forehead, and it stays there, all except that one strand, of course, which is determined to fall sensually across his eyebrow. "Maybe you make me a little nervous." "Yeah, right," I say, spine tingling. "Just because you don't see me grabbing a mop every time you walk into a room doesn't mean I don't notice you're there." It feels like a bowling ball has landed in my stomach, a sudden drop. Then come the butterflies.

My stomach fluttered. Not butterflies, just excitement. I loved motorcycles.

Oh, hi, Ben," I tried to sound casual, but my head started pounding, my palms started sweating, and the butterflies were doing Zumba in my stomach.

From the very first moment I saw you, "Hi." "Hi." My heart has raced with adrenaline. Stomach full of butterflies and one mind hopelessly full of love.

I can’t tell if I’m feeling butterflies or barbed wire in my stomach.

What can I do for you?” I had no idea why he’d want to speak to me, but my heart was thudding and the butterflies in my stomach were going crazy. “Well,” he began. “I was wondering if you’d come to dinner with me.” “Me,” I gasped. Dex chuckled. “Yeah you, Katie.” “Are you sure you mean me?” He full on laughed. “Yeah, darlin’, I do mean you.” “I…I don’t…I’d love to.

These butterflies almost hurt. They feel like they're writhing beneath my skin, taking over my stomach, impeding my vision. Because all I cans see is Rhett. On the back of my eyelids when I sleep, and with me all the fucking time when I'm not asleep. It's like he's become an extension of me, a necessary part of my personal ecosystem. Infatuation by proximity. It's like I never even had a shot.

The room had been decked with late-blooming roses that cast up a sugary glasshouse scent. Yet amongst the profusion of china and silver, the atmosphere was one of flamboyance, rather than celebration. Mrs. Croxon announced that we should eat 'exactly the Bill of Fare as given by a most genteel Countess at Bath'. I had no appetite for sardines in mustard, creamed oats and kidneys, for I had a stomach full of butterflies, as my mother had called my fits of nerves.

You are the thing that the poets wrote about, you are what the choir of angels is singing about, you are the thing that clouds part above and the sun beams down upon. You’re every butterfly, in every stomach. You’re my every tender thought. “You’re a warm towel when you get out of the shower on a cold night. You’re the tea you hold to your chest when you need a minute to yourself. You’re the feeling you get when you’re inside and safe and dry and it’s dark grey outside and it’s teeming down.

There was knock on the door and I knew it was Romeo. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as I went to answer. I was so nervous about tonight. Romeo’s eyes widened when I pulled back the door. He whistled beneath his breath. “Holy shit, Smalls.” “Do I look okay?” I worried. “Think your mother will approve?” Romeo reached out and grabbed me by the waist. “You don’t have to impress her. I don’t want or need her approval. You’re my girl. The end.” “No take backs?” I whispered. He smiled. “No take backs.

I didn’t acknowledge his words for a moment because the world had stopped spinning as soon as I met his eyes. Galaxies had less complexity and beauty than the swirling amber and chocolate that battled for dominance in his irises. His sharp jaw and pronounced chin spoke to places deep inside me and filled me with the urge to trace my fingers across them as I drew his lips to mine. Something stronger than butterflies burst to life in my stomach, threatening to tear me apart from the inside if I kept staring at him.

You've had ample opportunity to send me up the river… you could've easily gotten me locked up long ago just by opening your mouth. I didn't need to marry you to gain your silence. You've given it to me from the start. If you didn't turn on me then, when you had plenty of reason to, I trust that you won't do it now, ring or no ring. I married you, Karissa, because I love you. Nothing more, nothing less." As many times as he's said those words… I love you… it still makes my stomach flutter to hear them come from him. The butterflies soar. He's not an outwardly emotional person, not at all, so when he says it, I know he means it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are soft, sweet. His tongue tastes like peppermint. "I love you, too, you know." "I know.

If there’s anything you’d like to hear, I’m taking requests. But for now, let’s start with a little Harry Styles.” Butterflies flitted in my stomach as the first chords of “Cherry” smoothed over the crowd, and I found myself singing along, feet bopping under the table.

Mr. Kadam bowed and said, “Miss Kelsey, I will leave you to your dining companion. Enjoy your dinner.” Then he walked out of the restaurant. “Mr. Kadam, wait. I don’t understand.” Dining companion? What is he talking about? Maybe he’s confused. Just then, a deep, all-too-familiar voice behind me said, “Hello, Kells.” I froze, and my heart dropped into my stomach, stirring up about a billion butterflies. A few seconds passed. Or was it a few minutes? I couldn’t tell. I heard a sigh of frustration. “Are you still not talking to me? Turn around, please.” A warm hand slid under my elbow and gently turned me around. I raised my eyes and gasped softly. He was breathtaking! So handsome, I wanted to cry. “Ren.” He smiled. “Who else?” He was dressed in an elegant black suit and he’d had his hair cut. Glossy black hair was swept back away from his face in tousled layers that tapered to a slight curl at the nape of his neck. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar. It set off his golden-bronze skin and his brilliant white smile, making him positively lethal to any woman who might cross his path. I groaned inwardly. He’s like…like James Bond, Antonio Banderas, and Brad Pitt all rolled into one. I decided the safest thing to do would be to look at his shoes. Shoes were boring, right? Not attractive at all. Ah. Much better. His shoes were nice, of course-polished and black, just like I would expect. I smiled wryly when I realized that this was the first time I’d ever seen Ren in shoes. He cupped my chin and made me look at his face. The jerk. Then it was his turn to appraise me. He looked me up and down. And not a quick look. He took it all in slowly. The kind of slow that made a girl’s face feel hot. I got mad at myself for blushing and glared at him. Nervous and impatient, I asked, “Are you finished?” “Almost.” He was now staring at my strappy shoes. “Well, hurry up!” His eyes drifted leisurely back up to my face and he smiled at me appreciatively, “Kelsey, when a man spends time with a beautiful woman, he needs to pace himself.” I quirked an eyebrow at him and laughed. “Yeah, I’m a regular marathon alright.” He kissed my fingers. “Exactly. A wise man never sprints…in a marathon.” “I was being sarcastic, Ren.” He ignored me and tucked my hand under his arm then led me over to a beautifully lit table. Pulling the chair out for me, he invited me to sit. I stood there wondering if I could sprint for the nearest exit. Stupid strappy shoes, I’d never make it. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to let you escape again. You can either take a seat and have dinner with me like a normal date,” he grinned at his word choice, “or,” he paused thoughtfully then threatened, “you can sit on my lap while I force-feed you.” I hissed, “You wouldn’t dare. You’re too much of a gentleman to force me to do anything. It’s an empty bluff, Mr. Asks-For-Permission.” “Even a gentleman has his limits. One way or another, we’re going to have a civil conversation. I’m hoping I get to feed you from my lap, but it’s your choice.” He straightened up again and waited. I unceremoniously plunked down in my chair and scooted in noisily to the table. He laughed softly and took the chair across from me. I felt guilty because of the dress and readjusted my skirt so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

I look over at the man in question and just the sight of him gives me butterflies.  No, not butterflies.  Butterflies don’t quite do the trembling in my gut justice.  These are freaking pterodactyls!!  Huge, bird-like creatures are flapping around in my stomach just by looking at him. 

Fortune-teller tea. Give it a sip!" The liquid was pink and smelled of strawberries, but when Maddie drank it, the flavor was deep and a little bitter, followed by a sudden burst of sweetness. Her father returned. "Well?" he asked. "It started out as black licorice and then melted into butterscotch," she said. "Oh, my girl, the tea is telling you that this is the year to keep your ear to the ground and listen for surprises. Change is coming!" Maddie's stomach was full of thoughts and her head full of butterflies. She checked her watch again. She couldn't wait for it all to begin.

You have no idea how important you’ve come to be to me, and I don’t know how to explain it. But I will say that I’m not going anywhere, certainly not because you have a queasy stomach.” And now my stomach is moving again, but with butterflies now. “You say the sweetest things,” I whisper. “I don’t say anything that I don’t mean,

It’s so cute, isn’t it?” Arianna said dreamily. “Are we seeing the same creature? It’s like a demented goat with a bone growth.” “You’re going to hurt its feelings! Now shut up and sit on the ground.” I did as I was told, sticking my ankle out. “How is it going to heal me?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I pictured it licking my ankle and gagged. I could only imagine the diseases unicorn saliva had or what it carried around in its filthy, matted beard and hair. Bleating reproachfully, it stared at me with its doleful, square-pupiled brown eyes. “Oh, fine. Great, glorious unicorn, beloved of oblivious girls everywhere, please heal me. Now, if you don’t mind.” With one last bat of its gunk-crusted eyelashes, it lowered its head and put its stubby horn against my ankle. I cringed, waiting for pain, but felt instead tingling warmth spread out, almost like having butterflies in my stomach. Only in my ankle. Butterflies . . . with rainbows. The feeling of wholeness and well-being spread up my leg and into my entire body, and I couldn’t stop grinning. The forest was beautiful! The tree branches, naked against the brightening sky, held unimaginable wonders. The hard-packed dirt beneath me was a treasure trove of unrealized potential, lovely for what it could eventually give life to. I could sit out here forever and just enjoy nature. I was so happy! And rainbows! Why did I keep thinking of rainbows? Who cared! Rainbows were totally awesome! And the unicorn! I beamed at it, reaching out my hand to stroke it. There was never a creature more beautiful, more majestic. I’d spend the rest of my life out here, and we’d prance around the forest, worship the sunlight, bathe in the moonlight, and . . . I shook my head, scattering the idiotic warm fuzzies that had invaded. “Whoa,” I said, shoving the unicorn’s head away. “That’s enough of that.” I looked down at my ankle, which was now completely healed, not even a scar left. I fixed a stern look on the unicorn. “I am not going to frolic in an eternal meadow of sunshine and moonlight with you, you rotten little fink. But thanks.” I smiled, just enough to be nice without being too encouraging, and patted it quickly on the head. I was going to soak that hand in bleach. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” I stood, testing my ankle and relieved with the utter lack of pain. I still had an irrational desire to do an interpretive dance about rainbows, but it was a small price to pay for being healed.

She’s Uncle Terry’s sissy.” That crooked grin appeared on his lips. It affected me as much now as it had then. “Yeah, I know who she is, doll.” He looked to me and the look on his face was pure affection. “I’ve known Hadley for a good long while.” My brain gave permission for my stomach to release more butterflies. I wanted to ask him to stop looking at me like that. No, affectionate glances were definitely not allowable.

I have to give you your wedding present,” Marlboro Man said before I could ask where we were going. “I can’t wait a month before I give it to you.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “But…,” I stammered. “I haven’t gotten yours yet.” Marlboro Man clasped my hand, continuing to look forward at the road. “Yes you have,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and turning me to a pool of melted butter right in his big Ford truck.

My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.” Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath. “But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.” Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified. “Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.

His face was no longer hidden in shadows, and I found myself gazing into a pair of steel gray eyes that looked at me with such intensity I almost forgot to breathe. Mutely I stared at him while my stomach twisted with a sensation I could not put into words, and I felt a touch against the back of my mind like the flutter of butterfly wings. I experienced the strangest sense of recognition, though I knew I had never seen him before, and deep inside me something stirred like a cat uncurling from a long nap. The

When I woke up, Cat had already left but there was a text from Mike, asking me if I wanted to meet him in the lobby for breakfast. I felt gross and hungover, not to mention all of the butterflies in my stomach from the thought of just being near him, so I wasn’t sure I could handle keeping up a conversation all by myself. I wrote back Sure and then immediately texted Whitney and asked her to meet us so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him. When I arrived, they were bright and awake and alert, and I felt like a total zombie next to them. They teased me about my constant groaning about how sick I felt. But the truth was that my stomach butterflies were brought on more by how strange I felt around Mike. He seemed totally fine, like nothing had happened last night, but I kept stealing glances at him and thinking, You were my first kiss! In the light of day, it was hard for me to fully accept, because even though I was finally able to talk about my feelings with my friends and Nicole, I was still partially removed from that part of myself. We

I told her I was going to the dance with you instead." Violet thought her heart was going to burst. It was exactly what she'd wanted to hear for weeks, maybe even for months. But she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily for his devious little game. "Sorry," she offered with mock sincerity. "I have a date already. Besides, I don't remember you asking me." He narrowed his eyes at her, as if daring her to argue the point. "I'm your date. Grady can go to hell, for all I care. Maybe Lissie'll go with him and he can paw on her all night." They were nose to nose, and mouth to mouth. Violet was intrigued by this side of him...the confident, no-nonsense side, refusing to take no for an answer. She leaned forward and sighed as her lips barely brushed against his. "Fine," she exhaled in sham defeat. "I'll go to the dance with you...on one condition." His lips moved into a smile right against hers. "Anything." She gazed into his eyes as she licked her lips, purposely touching his lower lip with her tongue. That simple contact released a million nervous butterflies within the pit of her stomach. "Tell me what you and my dad were talking about.

By the time Marlboro Man walked in the door, I was stirring in the canned kidney beans and minutes away from throwing up. “Mmmm…smells good,” he said. He walked over to the stove and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his palms on my belly. “How are you, Mama?” he asked. Butterflies went crazy in my stomach. He did it for me, even when cumin was making me sick. “I’m better today,” I said, focusing on my physical condition. “How are you?” “I’m good,” he said. “I’m worried about you, though.” His hands caressed my ribs, my arms, my sides. He touched me all the time; physical indifference was never a problem with Marlboro Man.

My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.” Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath. “But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.” Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified. “Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.

After Tom leaves for work, I take Evie to the park, we play on the swings and the little wooden rocking horses, and when I put her back into her buggy she falls asleep almost immediately, which is my cue to go shopping. We cut through the back streets towards the big Sainsbury’s. It’s a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but it’s quiet, with very little traffic, and in any case we get to pass number thirty-four Cranham Road. It gives me a little frisson even now, walking past that house—butterflies suddenly swarm in my stomach, and a smile comes to my lips and colour to my cheeks. I remember hurrying up the front steps, hoping none of the neighbours would see me letting myself in, getting myself ready in the bathroom, putting on perfume, the kind of underwear you put on just to be taken off. Then I’d get a text message and he’d be at the door, and we’d have an hour or two in the bedroom upstairs.

So,” Cole says. “Did you decide on a name yet?” Before I can answer, everyone starts speaking at once. “You should name him Jace after your favorite brother.” Cole shoots Jace a dirty look. “You should name him Cole after your good-looking brother.” Dylan gives me a rueful grin. “Dylan is a great boy’s name, too. Just saying.” Sawyer nudges her in the ribs. “So is Sawyer.” Oakley and I exchange a humorous glance. “Okay,” Oakley declares, rubbing his hands together. “The bidding starts at fifty dollars.” After pulling out his wallet, Jace slaps some money on the tray table. “I got a hundred for Jace, right here.” Cole shoves some bills into Oakley’s hands. “I got two hundred for Cole.” Wayne reaches inside his pocket. “Do you take credit?” “Sorry, Pops. Cash only.” Fanning the money in his hand, Oakley looks around the room. “Any more takers?” Dylan pulls some money out of her bra. “Yup. Four hundred for Dylan.” “Well, I didn’t bring my checkbook with me.” Smiling smugly, Sawyer pats her stomach. “But we are having a girl and a boy. Perhaps we can work out an exchange.” Jace glowers. “That’s not fair.” “It’s called bartering, bro.” Reaching over, Cole high-fives his wife. “And that right there is just one reason I love you so much, Bible Thumper. You’re so fucking smart.” Oakley’s shoveling the money into his wallet when a nurse waltzes in. “Hi, Bianca. I’m the lactation nurse. Do you think you’re ready to try breastfeeding yet?” Jace makes a face. “And that’s my cue to leave.” Cole shakes his head. “Not me. I’m not leaving until I know my nephew’s name is Cole.” I’m shifting to get into a more comfortable position when I notice the blue, green, orange, and purple butterflies scattered across the nurse’s scrubs. My chest swells and I look over at Oakley who’s smiling. There’s only one name that feels right. “Liam,” we whisper at the same time.

Drake: "I know it;s love because I think of you night and day. I miss you when you are sitting right next to me. When I look at you my heart races and my stomach turns in the best and worst way possible. When I'm with you I feel complete, I feel whole. When I'm away from you it;s hard to breathe. When I think of my life without you I panic and tears fill my eyes. Before I met you, I didn't think I had much of a future besides being CEO at Baylor. I look at you, Morgan, and am filled with beautiful optimism at all of the things my future could have, and that is because i see you right there with me. I want to marry you, Morgan, I want to have children with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, my everything. To me that's love. You say you love me, Morgan, is that how you feel?" I ask hopefully. "Yes," Morgan says, as a confident smile crosses her face and tears fill her eyes. "Yes, that is exactly how I feel. I love you, Drake, you are my everything,

I spent another sleepless night in my apartment and in the early hours of the morning I snuck once more into my little kitchen, to prepare a huge torta di ricotta. I needed a cheesecake: it was the only thing that could give me the peace of mind I craved. Had I been too hasty in offering to give l'Inglese lessons? I asked myself, as I ground green almonds with my pestle. The power of my wrist quickly turned the almonds to powder. If only I could grind my worries away as easily. I beat the ricotta, egg yolks, honey, sugar, lemon juice, and rind into the almonds. I beat and beat and beat the mixture until a sweat formed on my brow and my body began to glow with warmth. Even then I did not stop beating. I welcomed the exhaustion that began to creep up on me: I could feel the healing power of my cooking. Really I knew nothing about l'Inglese. Nothing at all. Except that everything about him spelled danger to an inexperienced woman like me. I was afraid of him, yet could not bear the thought of not seeing him again. I was always thinking of him, imagining our next meeting: amusing myself with every possible scenario. I whisked the egg whites into peaks in a matter of seconds. I reasoned that I had been right to speak out to him when I did. I knew how I would have hated myself if I had let the moment slip by. I knew how wretched and foolish I would have felt at my impotence, and yet this turbulence inside me was almost as bad. Acrobatic butterflies fluttered in my stomach, however much I tried to feed them into submission. When the torta had baked to a golden, angel-scented crust, and after waiting impatiently for it to cool, I helped myself to a large slice with a thick dollop of cream. Ooh, it was good. I mopped up every crumb from the plate with my finger. Then I switched out the lights and climbed back into bed. I resigned myself to the thought that what was done could not be undone and drifted into a lemon-flavored sleep.