Cousins Get Together Quotes

No matter how you feel about your extended family or family gatherings you will be attending. This is because now the ultimate reason for attending family gatherings is for your children to have the time of their lives with their cousins. Little kids love their cousins. I’m not being cute or exaggerating here. Cousins are like celebrities for little kids. If little kids had a People magazine, cousins would be on the cover. Cousins are the barometers of how fun a family get-together will be. “Are the cousins going to be there? Fun!

You keep your summer house and your summer boys all to yourself and you don’t want to share anything with me. We finally get to spend a whole summer together and you don’t even care! All you care about is being in Cousins, with them.

My cousin Roger once told me, on the eve of his third wedding, that he felt marriage was addictive. Then he corrected himself. I mean early marriage, he said. The very start of a marriage. It's like a whole new beginning. You're entirely brand-new people; you haven't made any mistakes yet. You have a new place to live and new dishes and this new kind of, like, identity, this 'we' that gets invited everywhere together now. Why, sometimes your wife will have a brand-new name, even.

[Fire] is lightfooted and shamanic, dancing between the visible and invisible, undoing matter one collapsed molecule at a time, wreaking utter destruction with a touch softer than breath. Its poor cousins, wind and water, are one-dimensional rubes by comparison. Wind is all push, push, push. Water is suffocating, but passively so. And even when water gets it together to be a torrent or a tsunami, it is but wet wind. Fire is at once elemental and otherworldly. Fire dances on the grave of all it destroys. Fire is serious voodoo.

when i was little i used to save my baths for later. id come back to them before bed and sit in the old cold bathwater and run cool water out of the shower and pretend i was hiding in vietnam and it was raining. i was young when i did this and am not sure why i was thinking about vietnam or what i knew about it. i did this when i was older too. im thinking about doing it again tonight. you are running out of time to get everything you want exactly the way you want it. (this is a joke.) most things are going to be left unsaid. (this is not a joke.) a few weeks ago my mom sent me an email with pictures of eagles that said “how about these eagles.” she visits my cousin in jail once a month. that seems like a lot for an aunt. he is in jail because he shot his girlfriend in the face but they are still together. she told me once that she knew in her heart that he is guilty but now she claims she never said that.

And then you figure that you get unicorn horses and unicorn cows and some of those unicorn gazelles over in the desert where they got all the stories about evil antelope unicorns, and of course whales are all descended from hoofstock that went back into the ocean a shit-ton of time ago, pardon my language, but I don’t think you can really express geologic time properly without profanity and you figure that maybe that Ambulocetus what they call the “walking whale” took the unicorn genes with him and if it happened a bunch and they all swam around together and kept marrying their cousins the way you’re not supposed to do, you’d get your narwhals eventually.

I was held tight, wound round with wire, I couldn't breathe, and I had to run. I threw the sweater on the floor and went out the door and down to the creek where I always went. Jonas found me after a while and we lay there together, protected from the rain by the trees crowding overhead, dim and rich in the kind of knowing, possessive way trees have of pressing closer. I looked back at the trees and listened to the soft sound of the water. There was no cousin, no Charles Blackwood, no intruder inside. [...] I fell asleep listening to Jonas, just as the shadows were coming down. Sometime during the night Jonas left me to go hunting, and I woke a little when he came back, pressing against me to get warm. "Jonas," I said, and he purred comfortably. When I woke up the early morning mists were wandering lightly along the creek, curling around my face and touching me. I lay there lughing, feeling the almost imaginary brush of the mist across my eyes, and looking up into the trees.

Who’s Josie?” Alex asked, confused. “Uh . . .” I looked over at Deacon. “You want to do the honors? I know how much you love awkward conversations.” A wide smile broke out across his face. “Of course, especially when I’m not the center of the awkwardness.” Luke snorted. “So!” Deacon clapped his hands together as he faced Alex and Aiden. “Did you guys happen to notice a certain girl out on the quad when you did your magic doorway thing?” Aiden glanced at Alex. She raised a shoulder. “There were a lot of people out there that I hadn’t seen before.” She paused. “I noticed Boobs, though.” I slowly shook my head. “Um, that’s not who I’m talking about. Anyway,” Deacon said, his gray eyes light. “She’s pretty tall. Well, taller than you and everyone is practically taller than you, Alex. Has long blondish-brown hair. Kind of weird hair.” “Awesome hair,” Luke added. Alexander frowned silently. “She does. It’s like an array of colors. One moment it looks completely blonde. The next it’s long brown and then it changes again. It’s very cool,” Deacon continued, and I had to agree with him on that. “And when you see her, you’re going to think, wow, this girl looks familiar. You won’t be able to put a finger on it at first, but it’s going to nag at you and then, when it hits you, you’ll—” “Deacon,” Aiden warned. “Who is Josie?” His brother pouted for a second and then sighed. “Fine. She’s a demigod. Like, a born demigod. Powers unlocked and all, and she’s super-cool and really nice.” His gaze slid over to where I stood and his expression turned sly. “Isn’t that right, Seth?” I eyed him. “Right.” “You’re forgetting the best part.” Solos walked past the couch, sending me a long look. “Which god she came from.” Aiden seemed to get what wasn’t being said first. His eyes closed as he rubbed his fingers along his brow. “Gods.” “What?” Alex looked at him and then at me. “Whose kid is she?” “Apollo’s,” Deacon answered, his smile going up a notch when Alex’s gaze flew to him. “Yep. Josie is Apollo’s daughter.” Her mouth dropped open. “And that kind of makes you and her cousins? I guess?” Luke frowned. “I don’t know what exactly, but it does make you two related. Somehow. I don’t know how, but she does have some of your mannerisms. It gets really weird sometimes.

In the deep woods of the far North, under feathery leaves of fern, was a great fairyland of merry elves, sometimes called forest brownies. These elves lived joyfully. They had everything at hand and did not need to worry much about living. Berries and nuts grew plentiful in the forest. Rivers and springs provided the elves with crystal water. Flowers prepared them drink from their flavorful juices, which the munchkins loved greatly. At midnight the elves climbed into flower cups and drank drops of their sweet water with much delight. Every elf would tell a wonderful fairy tale to the flower to thank it for the treat. Despite this abundance, the pixies did not sit back and do nothing. They tinkered with their tasks all day long. They cleaned their houses. They swung on tree branches and swam in forested streams. Together with the early birds, they welcomed the sunrise, listened to the thunder growling, the whispering of leaves and blades of grass, and the conversations of the animals. The birds told them about warm countries, sunbeams whispered of distant seas, and the moon spoke of treasures hidden deeply in the earth. In winter, the elves lived in abandoned nests and hollows. Every sunny day they came out of their burrows and made the forest ring with their happy shouts, throwing tiny snowballs in all directions and building snowmen as small as the pinky finger of a little girl. The munchkins thought they were giants five times as large as them. With the first breath of spring, the elves left their winter residences and moved to the cups of the snowdrop flowers. Looking around, they watched the snow as it turned black and melted. They kept an eye on the blossoming of hazel trees while the leaves were still sleeping in their warm buds. They observed squirrels moving their last winter supplies from storage back to their homes. Gnomes welcomed the birds coming back to their old nests, where the elves lived during winters. Little by little, the forest once more grew green. One moonlight night, elves were sitting at an old willow tree and listening to mermaids singing about their underwater kingdom. “Brothers! Where is Murzilka? He has not been around for a long time!” said one of the elves, Father Beardie, who had a long white beard. He was older than others and well respected in his striped stocking cap. “I’m here,” a snotty voice arose, and Murzilka himself, nicknamed Feather Head, jumped from the top of the tree. All the brothers loved Murzilka, but thought he was lazy, as he actually was. Also, he loved to dress in a tailcoat, tall black hat, boots with narrow toes, a cane and a single eyeglass, being very proud of that look. “Do you know where I’m coming from? The very Arctic Ocean!” roared he. Usually, his words were hard to believe. That time, though, his announcement sounded so marvelous that all elves around him were agape with wonder. “You were there, really? Were you? How did you get there?” asked the sprites. “As easy as ABC! I came by the fox one day and caught her packing her things to visit her cousin, a silver fox who lives by the Arctic Ocean. “Take me with you,” I said to the fox. “Oh, no, you’ll freeze there! You know, it’s cold there!” she said. “Come on.” I said. “What are you talking about? What cold? Summer is here.” “Here we have summer, but there they have winter,” she answered. “No,” I thought. “She must be lying because she does not want to give me a ride.” Without telling her a word, I jumped upon her back and hid in her bushy fur, so even Father Frost could not find me. Like it or not, she had to take me with her. We ran for a long time. Another forest followed our woods, and then a boundless plain opened, a swamp covered with lichen and moss. Despite the intense heat, it had not entirely thawed. “This is tundra,” said my fellow traveler. “Tundra? What is tundra?” asked I. “Tundra is a huge, forever frozen wetland covering the entire coast of the Arctic Ocean.

Dear Sawyer and Quin, If you ever read this and I'm gone I want you to know something that has been weighing on me. I watch you two play and it can be so sad sometimes. You two have been best friends since Sawyer's birth. Always inseparable. It's been adorable , but comes with its challenges. I'm worried when I watch you boys. Quinton, you are always driven by your ego. You're strong and talented, but much too determined to beat down everyone in your efforts to be the best. You push yourself to win a competition, then shove it in someone's face. I’ve rarely seen you compliment others, but you always give yourself a pat on the back. You don't play anything for the love of it, you play to win and normally do. I've seen you tear down your brother so many times just to feel good about yourself. You don't have to do that, dear. You don't have to spend your life trying to prove that you're amazing. One day you'll fail and be alone because you've climbed to the top of a pyramid with only enough room for yourself. Don't let it get to that point and if you do, learn humility from your brother. He could do without so much of it. Sawyer, just because you're most often the underdog and the peaceful introspective kid, don't think I'm letting you off the hook. Your humility has become your worst enemy. It's so intense that I wonder if it will be your vice one day, instead of your greatest virtue. It's one thing to believe you are below all men, even when you're not, but it's another thing to be crippled by fear and to no longer try. Sometimes , dear, I think you fear being good at something because you've tasted the bitterness of being the one who comes in last and you don't want to make others feel that way. That's sweet of you and I smile inside when I see you pretending to lose when you race your younger cousins , but if you always let people beat you they may never learn to work hard for something they want. It's okay to win, just win for the right reasons and always encourage those who lose. Oh, and Sawyer, I hope one day you read this. One day when it matters. If so, remember that the bottom of a mountain can be just as lonely as the top. I hope the two of you can learn to climb together one day. As I'm writing this you are trying to climb the big pine tree out back. Quin is at the top, rejoicing in his victory and taunting Sawyer. And Sawyer is at the bottom, afraid to get hurt and afraid to be sad about it. I'm going to go talk to you two separately now. I hope my words mean something. Love you boys, Mom

I was held tight, wound round with wire, I couldn't breathe, and I had to run. I threw the sweater on the floor and went out the door and down to the creek where I always went. Jonas found me after a while and we lay there together, protected from the rain by the trees crowding overhead, dim and rich in the kind of knowing, possessive way trees have of pressing closer. I looked back at the trees and listened to the soft sound of the water. There was no cousin, no Charles Blackwood, no intruder inside. [...] I fell asleep listening to Jonas, just as the shadows were coming down. Sometime during the night Jonas left me to go hunting, and I woke a little when he came back, pressing against me to get warm. "Jonas," I said, and he purred comfortably. When I woke up the early morning mists were wandering lightly along the creek, curling around my face and touching me. I lay there laughing, feeling the almost imaginary brush of the mist across my eyes, and looking up into the trees.

Aren't you not allowed to be the psychologist of someone you know? I mean, I don't even know if you're a real doctor." "Before teaching, I did this as a profession. And I keep my license current. You are no longer one of my students, so it's not unethical. And yes, I am a real doctor." He pointed to a wall of framed diplomas. I wondered if anyone had ever closely looked at that wall. There were way more diplomas than he could've possibly earned. Nobody could go to that many schools. Eventually, I realized that some of the documents weren't even diplomas. They were more like certificates. One of them said that he was Camper of the Week at something called Happy Time Day Camp in 1961. "Well, not a real doctor," I pointed out. "A PhD isn't a real doctor." "A PhD is very much a real doctor." He pursed his lips together. "My cousin Gretchen has a PhD in Performance Studies. I went to her to get my appendix taken out, and you know what happened?" He rolled his eyes. "What happened, Astrid?" "I died.

Many kinds of animal behavior can be explained by genetic similarity theory. Animals have a preference for close kin, and study after study has shown that they have a remarkable ability to tell kin from strangers. Frogs lay eggs in bunches, but they can be separated and left to hatch individually. When tadpoles are then put into a tank, brothers and sisters somehow recognize each other and cluster together rather than mix with tadpoles from different mothers. Female Belding’s ground squirrels may mate with more than one male before they give birth, so a litter can be a mix of full siblings and half siblings. Like tadpoles, they can tell each other apart. Full siblings cooperate more with each other than with half-siblings, fight less, and are less likely to run each other out of the territory when they grow up. Even bees know who their relatives are. In one experiment, bees were bred for 14 different degrees of relatedness—sisters, cousins, second cousins, etc.—to bees in a particular hive. When the bees were then released near the hive, guard bees had to decide which ones to let in. They distinguished between degrees of kinship with almost perfect accuracy, letting in the closest relatives and chasing away more distant kin. The correlation between relatedness and likelihood of being admitted was a remarkable 0.93. Ants are famous for cooperation and willingness to sacrifice for the colony. This is due to a quirk in ant reproduction that means worker ants are 70 percent genetically identical to each other. But even among ants, there can be greater or less genetic diversity, and the most closely related groups of ants appear to cooperate best. Linepithema humile is a tiny ant that originated in Argentina but migrated to the United States. Many ants died during the trip, and the species lost much of its genetic diversity. This made the northern branch of Linepithema humile more cooperative than the one left in Argentina, where different colonies quarrel and compete with each other. This new level of cooperation has helped the invaders link nests into supercolonies and overwhelm local species of ants. American entomologists want to protect American ants by introducing genetic diversity so as to make the newcomers more quarrelsome. Even plants cooperate with close kin and compete with strangers. Normally, when two plants are put in the same pot, they grow bigger root systems, trying to crowd each other out and get the most nutrients. A wild flower called the Sea Rocket, which grows on beaches, does not do that if the two plants come from the same “mother” plant. They recognize each others’ root secretions and avoid wasteful competition.

They seemed so right together-both of them sophisticated, dark-haired, and striking; no doubt they had much in common, she thought a little dismally as she picked up her knife and fork and went to work on her lobster. Beside her, Lord Howard leaned close and teased, “It’s dead, you know.” Elizabeth glanced blankly at him, and he nodded to the lobster she was still sawing needlessly upon. “It’s dead,” he repeated. “There’s no need to try to kill it twice.” Mortified, Elizabeth smiled and sighed and thereafter made an all-out effort to ingratiate herself with the rest of the party at their table. As Lord Howard had forewarned the gentlemen, who by now had all seen or heard about her escapade in the card room, were noticeably cooler, and so Elizabeth tried ever harder to be her most engaging self. It was only the second time in her life she’d actually used the feminine wiles she was born with-the first time being her first encounter with Ian Thornton in the garden-and she was a little amazed by her easy success. One by one the men at the table unbent enough to talk and laugh with her. During that long, trying hour Elizabeth repeatedly had the strange feeling that Ian was watching her, and toward the end, when she could endure it no longer, she did glance at the place where he was seated. His narrowed amber eyes were leveled on her face, and Elizabeth couldn’t tell whether he disapproved of this flirtatious side of her or whether he was puzzled by it. “Would you permit me to offer to stand in for my cousin tomorrow,” Lord Howard said as the endless meal came to an end and the guests began to arise, “and escort you to the village?” It was the moment of reckoning, the moment when Elizabeth had to decide whether she was going to meet Ian at the cottage or not. Actually, there was no real decision to make, and she knew it. With a bright, artificial smile Elizabeth said, “Thank you.” “We’re to leave at half past ten, and I understand there are to be the usual entertainments-sopping and a late luncheon at the local inn, followed by a ride to enjoy the various prospects of the local countryside.” It sounded horribly dull to Elizabeth at that moment. “It sounds lovely,” she exclaimed with such fervor that Lord Howard shot her a startled look. “Are you feeling well?” he asked, his worried gaze taking in her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes. “I’ve never felt better,” she said, her mind on getting away-upstairs to the sanity and quiet of her bedchamber. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the headache and should like to retire,” she said, leaving behind her a baffled Lord Howard. She was partway up the stairs before it dawned on her what she’d actually said. She stopped in midstep, then gave her head a shake and slowly continued on. She didn’t particularly care what Lord Howard-her fiance’s own cousin-thought. And she was too miserable to stop and consider how very odd that was.

As Japan recovered from the post-war depression, okonomiyaki became the cornerstone of Hiroshima's nascent restaurant culture. And with new variables- noodles, protein, fishy powders- added to the equation, it became an increasingly fungible concept. Half a century later it still defies easy description. Okonomi means "whatever you like," yaki means "grill," but smashed together they do little to paint a clear picture. Invariably, writers, cooks, and oko officials revert to analogies: some call it a cabbage crepe; others a savory pancake or an omelet. Guidebooks, unhelpfully, refer to it as Japanese pizza, though okonomiyaki looks and tastes nothing like pizza. Otafuku, for its part, does little to clarify the situation, comparing okonomiyaki in turn to Turkish pide, Indian chapati, and Mexican tacos. There are two overarching categories of okonomiyaki Hiroshima style, with a layer of noodles and a heavy cabbage presence, and Osaka or Kansai style, made with a base of eggs, flour, dashi, and grated nagaimo, sticky mountain yam. More than the ingredients themselves, the difference lies in the structure: whereas okonomiyaki in Hiroshima is carefully layered, a savory circle with five or six distinct layers, the ingredients in Osaka-style okonomiyaki are mixed together before cooking. The latter is so simple to cook that many restaurants let you do it yourself on table side teppans. Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, on the other hand, is complicated enough that even the cooks who dedicate their lives to its construction still don't get it right most of the time. (Some people consider monjayaki, a runny mass of meat and vegetables popularized in Tokyo's Tsukishima district, to be part of the okonomiyaki family, but if so, it's no more than a distant cousin.) Otafuku entered the picture in 1938 as a rice vinegar manufacturer. Their original factory near Yokogawa Station burned down in the nuclear attack, but in 1946 they started making vinegar again. In 1950 Otafuku began production of Worcestershire sauce, but local cooks complained that it was too spicy and too thin, that it didn't cling to okonomiyaki, which was becoming the nutritional staple of Hiroshima life. So Otafuku used fruit- originally orange and peach, later Middle Eastern dates- to thicken and sweeten the sauce, and added the now-iconic Otafuku label with the six virtues that the chubby-cheeked lady of Otafuku, a traditional character from Japanese folklore, is supposed to represent, including a little nose for modesty, big ears for good listening, and a large forehead for wisdom.

Of course, no china--however intricate and inviting--was as seductive as my fiancé, my future husband, who continued to eat me alive with one glance from his icy-blue eyes. Who greeted me not at the door of his house when I arrived almost every night of the week, but at my car. Who welcomed me not with a pat on the arm or even a hug but with an all-enveloping, all-encompassing embrace. Whose good-night kisses began the moment I arrived, not hours later when it was time to go home. We were already playing house, what with my almost daily trips to the ranch and our five o’clock suppers and our lazy movie nights on his thirty-year-old leather couch, the same one his parents had bought when they were a newly married couple. We’d already watched enough movies together to last a lifetime. Giant with James Dean, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Reservoir Dogs, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Graduate, All Quiet on the Western Front, and, more than a handful of times, Gone With the Wind. I was continually surprised by the assortment of movies Marlboro Man loved to watch--his taste was surprisingly eclectic--and I loved discovering more and more about him through the VHS collection in his living room. He actually owned The Philadelphia Story. With Marlboro Man, surprises lurked around every corner. We were already a married couple--well, except for the whole “sleepover thing” and the fact that we hadn’t actually gotten hitched yet. We stayed in, like any married couple over the age of sixty, and continued to get to know everything about each other completely outside the realm of parties, dates, and gatherings. All of that was way too far away, anyway--a minimum hour-and-a-half drive to the nearest big city--and besides that, Marlboro Man was a fish out of water in a busy, crowded bar. As for me, I’d been there, done that--a thousand and one times. Going out and panting the town red was unnecessary and completely out of context for the kind of life we’d be building together. This was what we brought each other, I realized. He showed me a slower pace, and permission to be comfortable in the absence of exciting plans on the horizon. I gave him, I realized, something different. Different from the girls he’d dated before--girls who actually knew a thing or two about country life. Different from his mom, who’d also grown up on a ranch. Different from all of his female cousins, who knew how to saddle and ride and who were born with their boots on. As the youngest son in a family of three boys, maybe he looked forward to experiencing life with someone who’d see the country with fresh eyes. Someone who’d appreciate how miraculously countercultural, how strange and set apart it all really is. Someone who couldn’t ride to save her life. Who didn’t know north from south, or east from west. If that defined his criteria for a life partner, I was definitely the woman for the job.

All your friends are welcome here, darlin’,” Aunt Teeta assured her niece. “It’ll be good to have young people in the house. It needs some laughter and enthusiasm and fresh ideas.” “You’ll love Ashley, then,” Miranda told her. “I wish I had her enthusiasm.” “I wish you had Etienne Boucher. But that Gage is awful cute, too.” Winking, Aunt Teeta picked up her mug of mint tea and started for the stairs. “I’m off to bed, dear ones. Sleep tight.” Mom gave Miranda a teasing look. “What’s all this about Etienne Boucher? Teeta seems awfully determined to get you two together.” “He’s just a guy at school. In my study group. It’s nothing.” Then, as Mom lifted an eyebrow, Miranda added, “He’s the guy who fixed our air conditioner.” “I like him already. Who’s Gage?” “His cousin. And I’m not getting together with anyone.” “You don’t have to convince me, honey.

I want to get married someday. I want to stand up in front of all the people I love and make that commitment to someone I can’t live without. I want to have a family with her and dogs and a house that’s all ours. I want to take vacations with her and see the world together. I want to live and work and play and love with her, every day for the rest of my life. The woman I love, the woman I marry will be treated like a queen because that’s how I was raised by my dad and my uncles. It’s how my cousins treat their wives. I don’t know any other way but the McCarthy way.

Adam: Adam was a young man whose anxiety turned into a monster. Where Shelly had a very mild case of social anxiety, Adam’s case could only be called severe. Over a period of several years, his underlying social fears developed into a full-blown school phobia. A quiet, unassuming person, Adam had never stood out in the classroom. Through elementary school and on into high school, he neither excelled nor failed his subjects. By no means a discipline problem, the “shy” Adam kept to himself and seldom talked in class, whether to answer a teacher’s question or chat with his buddies. In fact, he really had no friends, and the only peers he socialized with were his cousins, whom he saw at weekly family gatherings. Though he watched the other kids working together on projects or playing sports together, Adam never approached them to join in. Maybe they wouldn’t let him, he thought. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Being rejected was not a chance he was willing to take. Adam never tried hard in school either. If he didn’t understand something, he kept quiet, fearful that raising his hand would bring ridicule. When he did poorly on an exam or paper, it only confirmed to him what he was sure was true: He didn’t measure up. He became so apprehensive about his tests that he began to feel physically ill at the thought of each approaching reminder of his inadequacy. Even though he had studied hard for a math test, for example, he could barely bring himself to get out of bed on the morning it was to take place. His parents, who thought of their child as a reserved but obedient boy who would eventually grow out of this awkward adolescent stage, did not pressure him. Adam was defensive and withdrawn, overwrought by the looming possibility that he would fail. For the two class periods preceding the math test, Adam’s mind was awash with geometry theorems, and his stomach churning. As waves of nausea washed over him, he began to salivate and swallowed hard. His eyes burned and he closed them, wishing he could block the test from his mind. When his head started to feel heavy and he became short of breath, he asked for a hall pass and headed for the bathroom. Alone, he let his anxiety overtake him as he stared into the mirror, letting the cool water flow from the faucet and onto his sweaty palms. He would feel better, he thought, if he could just throw up. But even when he forced his finger down his throat, there was no relief. His dry heaves made him feel even weaker. He slumped to the cold tile and began to cry. Adam never went back to math class that day; instead, he got a pass from the nurse and went straight home. Of course, the pressure Adam was feeling was not just related to the math test. The roots of his anxiety went much deeper. Still, the physical symptoms of anxiety became so debilitating that he eventually quit going to school altogether. Naturally, his parents were extremely concerned but also uncertain what to do. It took almost a year before Adam was sufficiently in control of his symptoms to return to school.

I don’t dare to move. I don’t want him to stop touching me. But I can’t just sit here like an idiot. What I really want to do is kiss his hand, but I’m not brave enough for that. I wish I were. And then Luca’s hand moves, just a little, to touch my hair again. He winds his finger through one of my curls. “Che boccoli,” he says, sinking again to sit down next to me on the window seat. Our knees touch. “I don’t know the word in English, but my cousins have these too. Bigger, curly, like African hair. And my father. Maybe you are some kind of relative, Violetta-who-looks-like-Zia-Monica. A cousin. My pretty Italian cousin. You know, when I first meet you I say you look Italian.” He’s leaning close to me now, and I’ve completely forgotten how to breathe. I glance sideways at his finger, long, elegant, very pale by contrast with my dark brown curl wrapped around it. “Boccoli,” he said. I must remember to look that up. “I hope I’m not your cousin,” I say simply. “And see how dark you are.” He lets my curl fall and takes my hand, holding it up next to his, my skin much sallower. “I am white from the north,” he says. “My mother’s Austrian blood. But you, the color of your skin is from the south, or at least Centro Italia, my pretty Italian cousin.” “I don’t want to be your cousin,” I say again, nearly in a whisper. “Why? Because we have kissed?” Luca’s still holding my hand, but his eyes go darker, almost cynical. Almost bitter. “A kiss means nothing. Don’t you know that yet, Violetta? Kissing,” he says, so close now I can feel his breath on my face, so close I can almost feel his lips against mine, “is nothing at all…” I know I should pull away. Even before anything happens, he’s told me it means nothing to him. I should push back, get up, go and find the group. But if he doesn’t kiss me now, I will go insane. Our hands twine together. Our heads move in unison, tilting fractionally. Our mouths touch, our eyes close, our breaths merge. Our bodies edge even closer on the seat, wrapping around each other. I’m completely and utterly lost in him.

Tory Vega just shut me down. I asked her to come to my room tonight but she just messaged me saying she's not coming and that I should use this time to 'work on my personality'.” He sighed, furiously thumbing through FaeBook posts absentmindedly, kicking out against the railing and making us swing backwards. “The Vegas are hard work.” I leaned my head back with a grunt. Caleb threw me a curious look. “You're not judging me then? Because every time I mention her name in front of Darius he looks like he's about to burst into flames.” ... “Well look at the bright side,” I said. “You could marry one of them and avoid marrying your buck-toothed cousin?” Darius's eyes whipped to me, his anger seeming to dissolve for a second. “That's not a terrible idea. Tory Vega has dry humped me on more than one occasion so I could probably win her round.” “I do hope you're fucking joking right now,” Caleb said in a deadly low voice and I turned to him with a smirk. “Someone's jealous,” I taunted, shoving his thigh with mine and he pressed his lips together into a tight line. A smirk pulled at Darius's features as he played up to Caleb's reaction. “That would be one way to keep her in line, huh Caleb? Surely you don't mind if I claim your play-thing. You're only passing time with her anyway, right?” “Right,” Caleb ground out, his shoulders becoming rigid and I glanced at him, knowing that wasn't true. Caleb didn't do exclusive very often, but it seemed like he was trying to do it with Tory. Which meant he actually gave a shit about her. And with my emotions all knotted up over Darcy, I sensed we were both about to cause a real issue when it came to keeping them both under heel. “That was the least convincing act I've ever seen,” Max jibed. “And I can feel your jealousy from here, mate, so you're not fooling anyone.” “She's my Source, it's natural for me to be possessive. That doesn't mean I care about her,” Caleb insisted, glaring at Max to try and make him back down. Their fighting made me uncomfortable and I snarled at Max to try and make him back off too. He raised his hands in innocence and I relaxed, getting to my feet and moving to stand next to Darius instead. (Seth POV)

We spent the day at the house with the architect, the engineer, the landscapers. I am very excited about the prospect of creating a home where we can spend time together as a family, where friends and extended family can come for long weekends, where I can build an art studio and an auxiliary kitchen in which to film a cooking show that has been percolating in my hungry mind for a while now, where we can plant a vegetable garden and a small orchard and put the benefits of them to good use every season, where my daughters, or sons, can get married, where Felicity can bring her lover(s), where my proctologist(s) can visit, and where our grandchildren can spend time with their cousins for years to come when I am no longer here.

The only other complaint I had about Jane's books, cousin-loving aside, was the getting-together part. They were stories of such unconquerable love, such strong feelings. You follow these characters through the ups and downs of an emotional roller coaster, this breathtaking will-they-or-won't -they, and is it too much to ask for a little more time spent on the I-love-you-and-want-to-be-with-you part? It was the very best part, and I wanted to draw it out. I wanted kisses--good, long, passionate ones. Jane never wrote about those.

A loud clearing of Enrique’s throat tears us apart. Alex looks at me with intense passion. “I have to get back to work,” he says, his breathing ragged. “Oh. Well, sure.” Suddenly embarrassed at our PDA, I step back. “Can I see you later today?” he asks. “My friend Sierra is coming over for dinner.” “The one who looks in her purse a lot?” “Um, yeah.” I need to change the subject or I’ll be tempted to invite him, too. I can see it all now--my mom seething in disgust at Alex and his tattoos. “My cousin Elena is gettin’ married on Sunday. Go with me to the wedding,” he says. I look at the ground. “I can’t have my friends know about us. Or my parents.” “I won’t tell ’em.” “What about people at the wedding? They’ll all see us together.” “Nobody from school will be there. Except my family, and I’ll make sure they keep their mouths shut.” I can’t. Lying and sneaking around has never been my strong point. I push him away. “I can’t think when you’re standing that close.” “Good. Now about that wedding.” God, looking at him makes me want to go. “What time?” “Noon. It’ll be an experience you won’t forget. Trust me. I’ll pick you up at eleven.” “I didn’t say ‘yes’ yet.” “Ah, but you were about to,” he says in his dark, smooth voice. “Why don’t I meet you here at eleven,” I suggest, gesturing to the body shop. If my mom finds out about us, all hell will break loose. He lifts my chin up to face him. “Why aren’t you afraid of bein’ with me?” “Are you kidding? I’m terrified.” I focus on the tattoos running up and down his arms. “I can’t pretend to live a squeaky-clean life.” He holds up my hand so it’s palm against palm with his. Is he thinking about the difference in the color of our skin, his rough fingers against the nail polish on the tips of mine? “In some ways we’re so opposite,” he says. I thread my fingers through his. “Yeah, but in other ways we’re so similar.” That gets a smile out of him, until Enrique clears his throat again. “I’ll meet you here at eleven on Sunday,” I say. Alex backs away, nods, and winks. “This time it’s a date.

It looked like a country badly in need of a melting of gigantic proportions, of a way to absorb the variety of groups and give them some coherence. Yuda and I tried to figure out how we would create a life together. We enjoyed each other's company, we knew that we wanted to get married, we had not changed too much in those six years, when we were apart. Yet we had no apartment, Yuda still had half a year of studies before graduation from the Technion. Both of us possessed no funds, no close family. He had three uncles and aunts, a sweet old grandmother and some cousins. We had no real "connections," which was as bad as having no money.

Alexander grimaced, remembering the first month after Jared’s return from England. It was…bad. He’d never seen his ever-so-composed cousin in such a state. Jared didn’t shave, barely ate and drank way too much. It continued until Alexander finally threw away all the booze in the house, shoved Jared into a cold shower, and told him to get a grip and stop wasting his life away because of some undeserving asshole. Jared punched him in the face and kicked him out of the house, but after that, he seemed to pull himself together: he stopped drinking and even found a job at some soccer club. Alexander had been relieved—until they found out Jared had started sleeping around. Christian didn’t approve, which was a bit amusing, considering Christian’s past. But in Christian’s opinion, there was a difference between having lots of sex because one liked sex and having lots of sex because one wanted to forget someone. Christian thought it wasn’t healthy, but Alexander thought it was promising that Jared was at least making an attempt to forget and move on. When the pictures of Jared and Oscar Mone had hit the press a few weeks ago, Alexander had been relieved. They had been photographed embracing and they seemed affectionate with each other. It clearly wasn’t just about sex. Oscar seemed totally smitten and Jared was…

My older cousins ran around playing Vietnamese and Hmong. Then we had believed that the enemies and killers were Vietnamese. We did not know of the Lao and Hmong communist soldiers. We played a simple game. When a Vietnamese found a Hmong and took a shot, the Hmong person would fall to the ground. Sometimes, a relative Hmong would run past a fallen Hmong and stop to lament, just like the adults: “Get up. Why have you fallen? Get up and we will run away together.” Of course, like in the war, there was no running for fallen bodies. In the end, if you were fast and you left everyone else behind, if you stopped yelling to the other Hmong people: “Run, they are coming! Run, they are coming!”—if you just looked behind yourself and ran as fast as you could, if you were lucky, you escaped, and you got to live in a refugee camp.

So how were these people judged? How will we be judged? We get up every morning thinking that if we're good, we'll make it to heaven, and if we're bad, we'll have trouble. But then we see a six-year-old girl die of cancer. We see raging waters and mud swallow innocent people in South America. And we see our neighbor, who cheats on his wife or steals from his boss, become wealthy. We see our cousin, the liar, win the lottery. What sense does this make?" A few people shake their heads. I want to know, too. "Got me," Natto says. "Got me. But I'll tell you this. I want to know. I want to find out. And I'll tell you two more things. One is, overall, we have seen a lot of times in life that what comes around goes around, haven't we?" A few people nod. "In the case of Venezuela, there's no good explanation. But we see sinners locked up every day, and brave men rewarded. And last night on the news, they showed heroes, people who saved lives in Venezuela. We saw people working together. Rescue workers. Relief workers. And that is God." He stops pacing. "That is God," he says again. He goes back to pacing. He has a strong gait. "These people do good. And if one of their planes crashed on the way back to whereever they came from? What sense would that make? I don't know. I don't claim to have all the answers. And maybe there are cases where I will never ever understand them. This is something a lot of churches don't want to admit, but I really might never have the answers. And sometimes, this might make me very angry." I like this. "But I said there were two more things I'll tell you. One is that we have seen that what comes around goes around. And here's the second thing. We judge within ourselves. Those people in Venezuela, the dying, if they led a good life, they knew it. They died at peace. They knew that they didn't deserve it, that it was just something that happened. But a guy who's been hurting people, who suddenly feels a rumble and the sky caves in, he's lying there, torn apart, and besides the physical pain, he knows in his heart, or he feels in his heart, that he's being punished. He can't lie there and say, "Please God I don't deserve to die". Because he knows he did wrong, and he has to apologize and make amends. And so in that way, judgement comes upon him. And we all know in our hearts, whether we're to be judged in the afterworld or not, that while we're on this earth, we judge ourselves.

You must remember that there was a war on, when we were born. If we made her happy, then we didn't add much to the collective sum of happiness in the whole of South London. First of all, the neighbours' sons went marching off, sent to their deaths, God help them. Then the husbands, the brothers, the cousins, until, in the end, all the men went except the ones with one foot in the grave and those still in the cradle, so there was a female city, red-eyed, dressed in black, outside the door, and grandma said it then, she said it again in 1939: 'Every twenty years it's bound to happen. The old men get so they can't stand the competition and they kill off all the young men they can lay their hands on. They daren't be seen to do it themselves, that would give the game away, the mothers wouldn't stand for it, so all the men all over the world get together and make a deal: you kill off our boys and we'll kill off yours. So that's that. Soon done. Then the old men can sleep easy in their beds, again.

Raksha Bandhan 2023: Auspicious Date and Time of Raksha Bandhan Rakhi, also known as Raksha Bandhan, is a traditional Hindu holiday that honors the protective and loving ties that exist between siblings, particularly between brothers and sisters. The event is normally celebrated on the day of the full moon in the Hindu month of Shravana, which usually falls in August. Raksha Bandhan 2023 Overview :- Festivals Name Raksha Bandhan Also Known as Rakhi, Saluno, Silono, Rakri Observed by Hindus Traditionally Type Religious Cultural Date Purnima (Full Moon) of Shrawan Holiday Type Restricted Holiday Raksha Bandhan 2023 - Auspicious Date and Time of Raksha Bandhan: Raksha Bandhan is observed on the day of the full moon in the month of Shravan, as it is every year. Raksha Bandhan is celebrated over two days this year, just like it was last year. This time, the full moon will be seen beginning at 10:59 on August 30 and continuing through 7:06 on August 31. Raksha Bandhan can be observed during the Uddhiya period, the only time frame we use for festivals, but this time, on August 30, the timing means that Bhadra cannot be avoided. On August 31, Raksha Bandhan can be honored. On August 30, at 10:59, the full moon will start, but Bhadra will not. Rakhi can only be tied with the thread after 9:03 p.m. to commemorate Raksha Bandhan. Between 5:32 and 6:32, when Bhadra is on the tail, Raksha Bandhan can be seen. If Bhadra is on Mukha, which occurs between 6:32 to 8:13, Rakhi cannot be observed. The August 31 full moon will be visible till 7:06 in the morning. Raksha Bandhan 2023 can be celebrated on August 31 if you follow Udaya Tithi. A Basis of Raksha Bandhan's Traditions and Significance may be Found Here: Tie a Rakhi: Sisters tie their brothers' wrists with a sacred thread known as a "Rakhi" on the occasion of Raksha Bandhan. This thread stands for their love, respect, and promise of security. Brothers promise to look out for and help their sisters throughout their lives in exchange for gifts or other tokens of appreciation from their sisters. Prayers and Rituals: The day starts with rituals and prayers. Before tying the Rakhi, sisters regularly do an aarti (a ritual involving a lamp) and place a tilak (a sacred mark) on their brothers' foreheads. Exchange of Gifts: Along with the Rakhi, presents are given and received as tokens of affection and respect. Sisters may receive gifts from brothers in the form of cash, garments, jewelry, or other items. Family Gathering: Families regularly get together for Raksha Bandhan. Even if they are separated by distance, siblings usually make an effort to be together and celebrate special occasions. Symbolism: The holiday represents the special and close relationship between siblings. Not only do family members participate, but also cousins and close relatives. The Rakhi thread is regarded as a representation of safety and an ongoing expression of the bond between brothers and sisters. Historical and Mythological Significance: Many historical and mythical stories are connected to the celebration. One well-known story has the queen Draupadi securing a piece of her sari to the bleeding wrist of Lord Krishna. Krishna promised to look out for her in return. The relationship between Lord Yama, the God of Death, and his sister Yamuna is the subject of another story. Yama's sister received the blessing that anyone who ties a Rakhi to him will live forever. Overall, Raksha Bandhan is a happy holiday that enhances family relationships and honors the emotional bond between siblings. It is a season of affection, respect, and support of bonds between siblings. To Learn More, Go Here

when he gets home from work, but it’s hard to keep up with him. All this to say that if you saw me, the last thing you’d think was “dangerous ninja.” I’m not the most popular kid in school, that’s for sure. I’ve never had a girlfriend, and I’ve never played sports outside of gym class. That’s not true – I was on a soccer team in third grade, but after a shin guard to the face and a broken nose, I quit. So I’m scrawny and unpopular. What else can I apply to those two traits for a completely wretched experience? The start of school. But wait! Let’s multiply that by a million – I’m also the new kid at this particular school. My parents decided to move across town over the summer so we could live in a slightly larger house. I mean, really? How selfish is that? A bigger house, but social death for me! Being in a new district means an entire herd of new students that I don’t know. Well, that’s not entirely true either. I know Zoe. She’s the same age as me, but doesn’t really count because she’s my cousin. Luckily, we had the same gym class together. She was surprised

I love you. I love you. I love you,” said his beloved, between kisses. “I cannot believe what you just did for me. I cannot believe you would give up everything so we could be together. And you gave my family back to me. Now I can be there when Tin gets married. Now I can finally meet my cousins’ children.

The other cousin. What was his name? Bill or Ben?” “Beau,” I replied, curious as to what she was going to say. “That’s right. Ugh, I remember the time Beau handcuffed me to the chain-link fence where Sawyer’s daddy kept his hunting dogs. I was terrified of being so close to the gate. I remember thinking that those snarling dogs were going to somehow gnaw my hand off through the fence.” I chuckled at the memory, and Lana twirled around on the bed and frowned at me. “It isn’t funny. You know I’m scared silly of dogs. And that awful boy made me sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ at the top of my lungs, over and over. Each time, he told me to sing it louder if I wanted to get free. And the louder I got, the angrier the dogs got. It was horrible.” She stopped, and a soft smile touched her lips, erasing the previous frown. “Then Sawyer showed up, scolded Beau, and unhandcuffed me. You finally popped up out of nowhere about that time and made up some lame excuse about needing Beau’s help with something. The two of you took off running with your giggles trailing behind y’all. Sawyer just shook his head as he watched y’all take off and apologized for his cousin. He was so sweet.” I’d forgotten that escapade. We had had so many that I couldn’t remember them all. But hearing Lana retell it, I laughed out loud. I’d been hiding behind the big ole oak tree just a few feet away. Beau had told me to stay out of sight in case Sawyer showed up. I’d had to shove my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud at the sound of Lana singing so loudly and off-key. “I was so sure the two of you would end up together. You’re still laughing about my torment seven years later. You two were evil.

Beau caught me staring and winked. I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing. A sharp elbow nudged me in the ribs, causing me to gasp and spin around to find the person who belonged to the boney arm. Lana was smiling innocently at me. “You’re being obvious,” she hissed, keeping a fake smile on her face. Her meaning, however, sunk in. “I need to go to the car and get my phone. My mom’s probably called me ten times by now,” Lana announced. “I’ll go with you,” I quickly replied, glancing up at Sawyer, who seemed pleased I was being nice to my cousin. I used to seek out this sort of approval from him, but now it annoyed me. If I didn’t like my cousin, I’d stomp on her foot just to piss him off. Once we were safely out of the clearing and headed for the car, Lana stopped walking and turned to glare at me. “You’ve about ten minutes or so to get yourself together before your knight in shining armor comes looking for us. I’m going to go get my phone and make a few calls.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean you need to stop openly flirting with Beau while the entire football team is around to witness it. It’s like you two think you’re the only ones out there. We all have eyes, you know.” She spun around and headed deeper into the pecan orchard and toward the parked cars. “She’s got a point, but it’s my fault.” Beau’s voice should have startled me, but it didn’t. Somehow I knew he’d find a way to get me alone. “Yes, it probably is,” I said teasingly as I turned around to meet his gaze. Beau took a step toward me and ran his hand through his hair, muttering a curse. “I want to rip his damn arms off his body, Ash. Sawyer, who I’d do anything for. I want to hurt him. If he touches you again in front of me, I’m going to crack. I can’t take this.

You know Beau and I were close as kids…” I decided to start there. It seemed like the best place. “Oh good God, you mean to tell me this has something to do with Beau? Beau Vincent?” I cringed and nodded without glancing over at her. “Yes, it has everything to do with Beau,” I whispered. Leann’s hand covered mine, and I took some comfort in the gesture. “This summer Beau and I started spending time together. You were with Noah or working, and Sawyer was gone. I thought it would be good to rekindle the friendship Beau and I once shared.” Leann squeezed my hands, and I continued to explain how we’d played pool at the bar where his mother worked, went swimming at the hole, watched a movie at my house, and then I paused, knowing what I told her next was going to be hard for her to comprehend. After all, I was the good girl. “That night in the back of his truck, Beau and I…we”--I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut--“had sex.” Leann let go of my hands and slipped her arm around my shoulders instead. “Wow” was her only response. “I know. It wasn’t the only time either and…and although I know it won’t happen again…I think…I think I love him. Maybe I always have. No. I know I always have. When I’m with Beau, I feel things I’ve never felt with Sawyer. I can be me. There’s no pretending. Beau knows my worst flaws.” “The heart wants who the heart wants. We can’t help that,” Leann said. I sighed and finally lifted my eyes to meet hers. The unshed tears blurred my vision. “But I’ve ruined his life. All he ever had was Sawyer. Make no mistake, I went after Beau. I can look back and see it now. This is all my fault. I should have never come between them.” I sniffled and buried my head in her shoulder. “Beau could have said no. He knew he was destroying his relationship with Sawyer every moment he spent with you. Don’t you take all the blame for this.” The stern tone in Leann’s voice only caused me to cry harder. Beau needed Sawyer. He might not have realized it, but he did. Somehow I had to make it right. “How do I fix this? How do I help Beau get Sawyer back?” “You can’t fix this for them. Beau knew what he was doing, Ash. He chose you over Sawyer. Now that you’ve let Sawyer go, are you going to choose Beau?” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and peered over at her. “Choosing Beau will cause everyone in Grove to hate him. They’ll all see him as the guy who took Sawyer’s girl away. I can’t do that to him.” Leann shrugged. “I don’t think Beau cares about everyone else. He made that apparent when he decided sneaking around with his cousin’s girl was what he wanted to do. He has to love you, Ash. Never in this lifetime would I have thought Beau would do anything to hurt Sawyer. He loves him. So that can only mean he loves you more.” She reached over to pay my shoulder. “Question is: Do you love him as fiercely? Are you willing to snub your nose at your family and the people in town in order to have him?

Is she here?” Sawyer asked, scanning the empty bar. He’d thought she would come to me too. “No.” “Where is she?” “I don’t know.” Sawyer stalked toward me. God, I didn’t want to hit him. I just wanted Ash. The real Ash. The one he didn’t know. The one he’d never be able to love. “How could you do this, Beau? You’re like my brother.” The pain in his eyes felt like a knife twisting in my gut. It wasn’t enough to make me regret anything, but it hurt like hell. “You don’t know her. You never did.” “I don’t know her? I don’t know her? Who in the hell do you think you are, Beau? She’s been mine for three years. Three years. The two of you hardly acknowledged each other for those three years. Then I leave for the summer and you two make up? Become friends? What exactly happened? Because the bullcrap she tried to feed me outside the church isn’t gonna fly.” Do I tell him the truth? He deserved the truth, but I couldn’t tell him everything without Ash’s consent. It was her story too. “We got close. We spent time together. We remembered why we were so close when we were younger.” I stopped and stared at him. There was one truth he needed to know, one truth that was mine to tell. But admitting it would probably kill any chance of us ever getting over this. It all boiled down to who was more important. My cousin, the one guy I’d always known would stand by me no matter what, my best friend. Then there was Ash, the one person I couldn’t live without, not anymore. “I love her.” Sawyer’s jaw dropped, then clenched within a second. He was gearing up to take a swing at me. I could see it in his stance. “You. Love. Her,” he repeated in angry disbelief. “Are you aware that I intend to marry her one day? What about you, Beau, huh? You planning on marrying her? Moving her into your mama’s trailer? Maybe she could get a job working here with Aunt Honey once her parents completely cut her off.” My fist slammed into his face before I knew what was happening.

Ash, you were my girl for years. But before that, we were friends. The best of friends. I should have never let one snag in the road cause me to turn on you like I did. It was wrong. You took all the blame for something that wasn’t entirely your fault. It was Beau’s and it was mine.” “Yours? How?” “I knew Beau loved you. I’d seen the way he looked at you. I also knew you loved him more than you loved me. You two had a secret bond I didn’t get to be a part of. I was jealous. Beau was my cousin and you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. I wanted you for myself. So I asked you out, never once going to Beau first. Never once asking him how he felt about it. You accepted, and just like magic I broke up the bond you two shared. You guys never talked anymore. There were no more late-night roof talks and no more bailing y’all out of trouble. Beau was my cousin and you were my girlfriend. It was as if your friendship had never been. I was selfish and ignored the guilt until it went away. Only the times I saw him watching you with that pained, needy expression did the guilt stir in my gut. It was mixed with fear. Fear you’d see that I’d done and go to him. Fear I’d lose you.” I reached down and ran my hand over his hair. “I loved you, too. I wanted to be good enough for you. I wanted to be the good girl you deserved.” “Ash, you were perfect just the way you were. I was the one who let you change. I liked the change. It’s one of the many reasons I feared I’d lose you. Deep down I knew one day that free spirit you’d quenched would fight to be released. It happened. And the fact it happened with Beau doesn’t surprise me in the least.” “I’m sorry, Sawyer. I never meant to hurt you. I made a mess of things. You aren’t going to have to watch Beau and me together. I’m stepping out of both of your lives. You can get back what was lost.” Sawyer reached up and grabbed my hand. “Don’t do that, Ash. He needs you.” “No, it’s what he wants too. Today he hardly acknowledged me. He only spoke to me when he was making a point to everyone else that I was to be left alone.” Sawyer let out a sad laugh. “He won’t last long. He’s never been able to ignore you. Not even when he knew I was watching him. Right now he’s dealing with a lot. And he’s dealing with it alone. Don’t push him away.” I jumped down from the branch and hugged Sawyer. “Thank you. Your acceptance means the world to me. But right now he needs you. You’re his brother. I’ll just be hindrance to you two dealing with everything.” Sawyer reached out and twirled a strand of my hair around his finger. “Even if I was wrong to take you without a thought to Beau’s feelings, I can’t make myself regret it. I’ve had three amazing years with you, Ash.” I didn’t know what to say. I’d had good times too, but I did regret choosing the wrong Vincent boy. He gave me one last sad smile, then dropped my hair and walked away.

I’m sweaty. I’m tired. And I stink in places I really shouldn’t be stinking.” I whine and shoot a glare to Dean, who’s sitting in the passenger seat looking sheepish. “What?” he exclaims with his hands raised. “I didn’t know we’d have fucking car trouble. Your car isn’t even a year old.” “I know!” I snap, hitting my hand on the wheel and growling in frustration. “Stupid old lady car!” I exclaim and push my head closer to the window for a breeze. “The frickin’ air conditioning isn’t even working anymore. Me and this car are officially in a fight.” “I think we all just need to remain calm,” Lynsey chirps from the back seat, leaning forward so her head comes between Dean’s and mine. “Because, as horrible as this trip was, after everything that’s happened between the three of us the past couple of years, I think this was really healing.” I close my eyes and shake my head, ruing the moment I agreed that a road trip to the Rocky Mountains to pick up this four-thousand-dollar carburetor from some hick who apparently didn’t know how to ‘mail things so they don’t get lost.’” Honestly! How are people who don’t use the mail a thing? Though, admittedly, when we got to the man’s mountain home, I realized that he was probably more familiar with the Pony Express. And I couldn’t be sure his wife wasn’t his cousin. But that’s me being judgmental. Still, though, it’s no wonder he wouldn’t let me PayPal him the money. I had to get an actual cashier’s check from a real bank. Then on our way back down the mountain, I got a flat tire. Dean, Lynsey, and I set about changing it together, thinking three heads could figure out how to put a spare tire on better than one. One minute, I’m snapping at Dean to hand me the tire iron, and the next minute, he’s asking me if I’m being a bitch because he told me he had feelings for me. Then Lynsey chimes in, hurt and dismayed that neither of us told her about our conversation at the bakery, and it was a mess. On top of all of that, my car wouldn’t start back up! It was a disaster. The three of us fighting with each other on the side of the road looked like a bad episode of Sister Wives: Colorado Edition. I should probably make more friends. “God, I hope this thing is legit,” Dean states, turning the carburetor over in his hands. “Put it down. You’re making me nervous,” I snap, eyeing him cautiously. We’re only five miles from Tire Depot, and they close in ten, so my nerves are freaking fried. “I just want to drop this thing off and forget this whole trip ever happened.” “No!” Lynsey exclaims. “Stick to the plan. This is your grand gesture! Your get out of jail free card.” “I don’t want a get out of jail free card,” I cry back. “The longer we spent on that hot highway trying to figure out what was wrong with my car, the more ridiculous this plan became in my head. I don’t want to buy Miles’s affection back. I want him to want me for me. Flaws and all.” “So what are you going to do?” Dean asks, and I feel his concerned eyes on mine. “I’m going to drop this expensive hunk of metal at the counter and leave. I’m not giving it to him naked or holding the thing above my head like John Cusack in Say Anything. I’ll drop it off at the front counter, and then we’ll go. End of story.” Lynsey’s voice pipes up from behind. “That sounds like the worst ending to a book I’ve ever heard.” “This isn’t a book!” I shriek. “This is my life, and it’s no wonder this plan has turned into such a mess. It has desperation stamped all over it. I just want to go home, eat some pizza, and cry a little, okay?” The car is dead silent as we enter Boulder until Dean’s voice pipes up. “Hey Kate, I know you’re a little emongry right now, but I really don’t think you should drive on this spare tire anymore. They’re only manufactured to drive for so many miles, you know.” I turn and glower over at him. He shrinks down into his seat a little bit.

Did you really just say "mancation"? Bonnie raised her eyebrows. "I thought he was going fishing." "He is, but that's what they call it these days when a bunch of guys go off together for a weekend. The resorts have started marketing their packages as "mancations." They get golf, fishing poker--- all that guy stuff.