Cozy Fall Quotes

From the antique Persian rugs covering the gleaming hardwood floors to the molded tin ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the house was a showstopper. Throughout its long life, no one had allowed this home to fall into disrepair. Every detail of the wainscoting, every pocket door, every window, floor tile, and bathtub was original to the house.

…she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and fun, and cozy times together.

The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency.

So how's Cupid Day treating you?" He pops a mint in his mouth and leans closer. It grosses me out, like he thinks he can seduce me with fresh breath. "Any big romantic plans tonight? Got someone special to cozy up next to?" He raises his eyebrows at me. [...] "We'll see," I say, smiling. "What about you? Are you going to be all by your lonesome? Table for one?" He leans forward even more, and I stay perfectly still, willing myself not to pull away. "Now why would you assume that?" He winks at me, obviously thinking that this is my version of flirting--like I'm going to offer to keep this company or something. I smile even wider. "Because if you had a real girlfriend," I say, quietly but clearly, so he can hear every word perfectly, "you wouldn't be hitting on high school girls.

Our virus is a lot smarter than the ones you see in zombie movies. It doesn't make its victims stagger around slobbering and moaning so anyone in their right minds would run the other way. It gets you cozying up to people so you cough and sneeze it right into their faces. We just need the vaccine. Then we'll be okay.

It's time for bed. And here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to get in bed, and I don't have anyone to sleep with now, so what I do is I sleep with my books. And I know that's kind of weird and solitary and pathetic. But if you think about it, it's very cozy. Over a period of four, five, six, seven, nine, twenty nights of sleeping, you've taken all these books to bed with you, and you fall asleep, and the books are there. *** Some of the books are thick, and some are thin, some of the books are in hardcover and some in paperback. Sometimes they get rolled up with the pillows and the blankets. And I never make the bed. So it's like a stew of books. The bed is the liquid medium. It's a Campbell's Chunky Soup of books. The bed you eat with a fork.

That was a cozy night, a happy night; lamps lit, sparkle of glasses, rain falling heavy on the roof. Outside, the treetops tumbled and tossed, with a foamy whoosh like club soda bubbling up in the glass. The windows were open and a damp cool breeze swirled through the curtains, bewitchingly wild and sweet.

DEAR MISS MANNERS: When does a gentleman offer his arm to a lady as they are walking down the street together? GENTLE READER: Strictly speaking, only when he can be practical assisstance to her. That is, when the way is steep, dark, crowded, or puddle-y. However, it is rather a cozy juxtapostion, less comprising than walking hand in hand, and rather enjoyable for people who are fond of each other, so Miss Manners allows some leeway in interpreting what is of practical assisstance. One wouldn't want a lady to feel unloved walking down the street, any more than one would want her to fall of the curb.

I was so comfortable. I was warm and cozy, in that blissful, dreamy place between asleep and awake... Until my comfy pillow moved. And the blanket keeping me warm moved. I grumbled at them sleepily, and then my pillow and blanket chuckled. I looked up, trying to make sense of my thoughts, and I saw him. Cameron. My pillow and blanket was Cameron; a half asleep, chuckling Cameron. I groaned and let my head fall back on his chest, his arms tightened around me. "I wondered why my pillow moved." He chuckled again, and I could hear the sound resonate in my ear.

AUTUMN NIGHTS A crispy, cozy night on my wooden porch, Rustling leaves under my feet, Pinecones and pumpkin lights everywhere, A soft wool blanket in my chair, The smell of warm apple spiced candles, What a delight! I'm really falling for this October night.

... I will say this. Marriage is work. It's hard work. Harder than anything else you'll ever do. Believe me, I know. And do you want to know why?' James nodded and Ben Latrobe leaned forward as if to impart a deep, mysterious secret. 'Because marriage isn't about the wedding or the wedding trip afterward. It isn't about cozy nights spent in each other's arms or the way she makes you feel when she smiles. Oh, those things all have a part in it, but a very minor one. No, James, marriage is about sticking it out when it isn't so nice. Marriage is being there to pick up the pieces when your perfect world falls apart. It's seeing the mess you've made of things and being willing to work through it until you have created something better than you had before. It's listening to her fears, her troubles, and concerns. It's eating meals that don't taste as good as those your mother fixed, enduring her temperamental outburts and tears, and not giving up when things get hard.' Latrobe paused for a moment and a frown lined his face where the smile had been only moments before. 'True love is standing by your mate when his health fails, along with his business.' ... 'It's knowing that the world goes on and you can depend on each other even when everything else around you lies in ruins at your feet...

Pennsylvania entertained a very long winter and summer punctuated with a day or two that could be considered a life-affirming spring and cozy, crisp fall.

I adored fall and everything that came with it—the cozy clothes, the riot of earthy colors on the trees, the hint of cinnamon and smoke in the air.

Broken people break people,

I've got you, honeybee. I won't let you fall.

England reminds me of a quote I saw on a packet of Swiss Miss instant cocoa mix: 'Like a basket of drinkable kittens, wrapped in a blanket, next to a fireplace.

They were falling back into familiarity, into common ground, into the dirty gray. Just ordinary humans in ordinary opaque boiled-egg light, without grace, without revelation, composite of contradictions, easy principles, arguing about what they half believed in or even what they didn't believe in at all, desiring comfort as much as raw austerity, authenticity as much as playacting, desiring coziness of family as much as to abandon it forever. Cheese and chocolate they wanted, but also to kick all these bloody foreign things out. A wild daring love...but also a rice and dal love blessed by the unexciting feel of everyday, its surprises safely enmeshed in something solidly familiar...Every single contradiction history or opportunity might make available to them, every contradiction they were heir to, they desired. But only as much, of course, as they desired purity and a lack of contradiction.

Religion seems to have always offered us that false duality,” she said, setting her cup of tea on a flat stone. “The silences of infinite space or the cozy comfort of inner certainty.

There was melancholy There was revolution But… nothing was done To avoid the fall… No one cares For this culture: They only care To low others… How can you avoid All the stimuli around you?

everything happens for a reason, and sometimes, we don’t know what that reason is, or don't agree with it. All we can do is go with the flow, take what life gives us, and continue forward with a grateful heart.

May November grace your life with the warmth of autumn's colors, the joy of falling leaves, and the gentle embrace of cherished moments. Wishing you a month filled with cozy moments, delightful surprises, and an abundance of happiness. Happy New Month!

I thought of our cozy bed empty at home, remembered falling in love in New Haven twelve years earlier, surprised right away by how well our bodies and limbs fit together, and thought of how ever since, we’d both slept best when entwined. I hoped with all I had that he felt that same restful comfort now.

You’re as pretty as she is.” “Don’t be saying such things loud enough for herself to hear you, or she’ll skin us both.” Touched and amused, she kissed his cheek. And Shawn came through the door. It would have been comical, she decided, and was a pity that no one noticed but herself noticed the way he stopped dead in his tracks, stared, then jolted when the door swung back and slapped him in the ass. I liked how she was trying to make him jealous with Jack. Jack sighed into his beer when Brenna strode out. “She smells like sawdust,” he said more to himself than otherwise. “It’s very pleasant.” “What are you doing sniffing at her?” Shawn demanded. Jack just blinked at him. “What?” “I’ll be back in a minute.” He shoved up the pass-through on the bar, let it fall with a bang that had Aidan cursing him, then rushed through the door after Brenna. “Wait a minute. Mary Brennan? Just a damn minute.” She paused by the door of her truck, and for one of the first times in her life felt the warm glow of pure female satisfaction stream through her. A fine feeling, she decided. A fine feeling altogether. Schooling her face to show mild interest, she turned. “Is there a problem, then?” “Yes, there’s a problem. What are you doing flirting with Jack Brennan that way?” She let her eyebrows rise up under the bill of her cap. “And what business might that be of yours, I’d like to know?” “A matter of days ago you’re asking me to make love with you, and I turn around and you’re cozying up to Jack and making plans to have dinner with some Dubliner.” She waited one beat, then two. “And?” “And?” Flustered and furious, he glared at her. “And it’s not right.” She only lifted a shoulder in dismissal, then turned to open the truck door. “It’s not right,” he repeated, grabbing her again and turning her to face him. “I’m not having it.” “So you said, in clear terms.” “I don’t mean that.” “Oh, well, if you’ve decided you’d like to have sex with me after all, I’ve changed my mind.” “I haven’t decided—” He broke off, staggered. “Changed your mind?

I... um... couldn't sleep." She swallowed.... When Amelia saw his eyes soften, she was surprised when he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips. It was a warm delectable kiss, a kiss that took her breath away... As he gazed into her eyes, Rick said softly. "If you think you can fall into my bed and get away with not being kissed, you're sadly mistaken, lady.

You drive, walk, eat, look at television, read, and all the while, beyond you and the cozy circle created by your lady around herself and you, like the natural emanations of stars, other lives circle yours, seeds still winged and wind-borne, looking for sympathetic soil. You feel the juices and solids of your body in attempted rearrangement, or, more disturbing, making an effort to create a stillness that approximates death, beyond which the body does become soil, receptive to all wind-borne seeds. In a not especially prolonged stillness, as though no chances could be taken that you might decide to become perpetual motion, words fall out of the air, a random fall from which you might be tempted to make selection, and as you do not move, cannot, a string of words falls onto you, and from you, onto the paper: winter rye greening up, smoothing the old brown earth with a fine new plane: Carpenter Rye, neighbor.

I just want to understand why you haven't fallen in love." Amelia was pensive for a moment and then said "When I fall in love, I want to feel as if I'm floating on clouds. As if there is not a care in the world. I want to be deliriously happy and tell everyone about it just like in South Pacific." "South Pacific?" he asked with an uplifted brow. She nodded as she softly sang, "'If you'll excuse an expression I use, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with a wonderful guy!

There are so many hammocks to catch you if you fall, so many laws to keep you from experience. All these cities I have been in the last few weeks make me fully understand the cozy, stifling state in which most people pass through life. I don't want to pass through life like a smooth plane ride. All you do is get to breathe and copulate and finally die. I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow. I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun - hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks. People will walk by and say, "Look at that drooling idiot. What a basket case." I will turn and say to them "It is you who are the basket case. For every moment you hated your job, cursed your wife and sold yourself to a dream that you didn't even conceive. For the times your soul screamed yes and you said no. For all of that. For your self-torture, I see the glowing eyes of the sun! The air talks to me! I am at all times!" And maybe, the passers by will drop a coin into my cup.

Eric Greitens says that there are three primary forms of happiness: the happiness of pleasure, the happiness of grace, and the happiness of excellence5. He compares them to the primary colors, the basis on which the entire spectrum is created. The happiness of pleasure is largely sensory. It’s a good meal when you’re hungry, the smell of air after it rains, waking up warm and cozy in your bed. The happiness of grace is gratitude. It’s looking over to see the love of your life sleeping next to you and whispering, “thank you.” It’s taking inventory of what you do have. It’s when you speak to something greater than yourself, expressing humility and awe. And then there is the happiness of excellence. The kind of happiness that comes from the pursuit of something great. Not the moment you arrive at the top of the mountain and raise your fists in victory, but the process of falling in love with the hike. It is meaningful work. It is flow. It is the purpose that sears identity and builds character and channels our energy toward something greater than the insatiable, daily pursuit of our fleeting desires.

I want him. Not the way she wanted the others. She didn't want him to use---as a shield between her and the things she was running from. To feel normal. To soothe that lonely ache. She wanted him. His sharp edges and surprising tenderness and quiet strength. She wanted him spooning homemade soup into her mouth in his cozy, tidy house that smelled like bread. She wanted him discussing poetry in the dark with her grandfather. She wanted that fervent, desperate kiss in the palace hall. She wanted Hawthorne Fell. The Wood King's henchman. Not exactly boyfriend material, but still. He called to her the way the forest did. Called to something deep and forgotten. Something that longed to come alive again.

Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates! All streaming into cozy hotels All going to do the same thing tonight The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen The lobby zombies they knowing what The whistling elevator man he knowing The winking bellboy knowing Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything! Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye! Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon! running rampant into those almost climatic suites yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel! O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce--

After we've stuffed ourselves, we scatter around the living room, falling into a comfortable quiet. The living room is a majestic place - I mean, it is massive - with vaulted log ceilings and old wood floors covered in wide woven rugs. Along one long wall, the fire crackles and snaps, heating the room to just below too warm. It's wood from town and nothing smells like it. I want to find a candle of this, incense, room spray. I want every living room in every house I live in for the rest of time to smell like the Hollis cabin does on December evenings. The hearth is expansive; when we were about seven, our chore was sweeping out the fireplace at the end of the holiday, Theo and I could almost stand up inside it. The flames actually roar to life. Even once they mellow into a rumbling, crackling simmer, the blaze still feels like a living, breathing creature in here with us.

Pumpkin Sugar Cookies Sugar Cookies just got better with a little pumpkin! This recipe creates soft, chewy, lightly spicy glazed pumpkin sugar cookies that are perfect for Fall! Ingredients: 1/2 cup softened butter 1/2 cup vegetable oil 1/2 cup pumpkin puree {canned pumpkin} 1 cup granulated sugar 1/2 cup powdered sugar 1/2 teaspoon vanilla 2 large eggs 4 cups all purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg For the glaze topping: 3 cups powdered sugar 4 tablespoons water 1/4 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice Instructions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silicone baking mat and set aside. In a large bowl, stir butter, oil, pumpkin, sugars, vanilla and eggs together until incorporated and smooth. Slowly mix in all dry ingredients until completely incorporated. Scoop onto prepared baking sheet using 1 1/2 tablespoon scoop and flatten to 1/2 inch thick using the bottom of a glass. If the dough is sticking to the glass, press the bottom of the glass in granulated sugar before flattening. Bake 8-9 minutes. While cookies bake, stir all ingredients together for glaze until smooth. Once cookies are finished baking, cool 3 minutes on baking sheet before transferring to cooling rack. Spread 1 1/2 teaspoons glaze over each warm cookie. Let glaze harden 2-3 hours before serving. OR eat them warm with lots of runny glaze.

Will you be there waiting for me every night, in our cottage?" he murmured. She nodded, leaning against him. McKenna's bristly black lashes lowered until they cast shadows on his cheeks. "And you'll scrub my back when I'm tired and dusty from the field?" Aline pictured his large, powerful body lowering into a wooden tub... his pleasured sigh at the heat of the water... his bronzed back shining in the firelight. "Yes," she breathed. "And then you can soak while I hang the stew pot over the fire, and I'll tell you about the argument I had with the miller, who didn't give me enough flour because his scale was weighted." McKenna laughed softly while his fingertip skimmed lightly along her throat. "The cheat," he murmured, his eyes sparkling. "I'll speak with him tomorrow- no one tries to fleece my wife and gets away with it. In the meantime, let's go to bed. I want to hold you all night long." The thought of being tucked in a cozy bed with him, their naked bodies entwined, made Aline tremble with longing. "You'll probably fall asleep as soon as your head touches the pillow," she said. "Farming is hard work- you're exhausted." "Never too tired to love you." His arms slid around her, and he hunched over to nuzzle the curve of her cheek. His lips were like hot velvet as he whispered against her skin. "I'm going to kiss you from your head to your toes. And I won't stop until you're crying for me, and then I'll pleasure you until you're weak from my loving.

exhausts himself and falls asleep in our faces. When that happens, Chase puts a blanket over him and we tiptoe out. On this particular day, we decide to grab a snack and screen our video footage. I suggest frozen yogurt at Heaven on Ice—the words are out of my mouth before I remember what happened the last time we were in that place together. He looks worried, so I add, “I promise not to dump anything over your head.” Heaven on Ice is just a few blocks away. We load up sundaes, pick a corner booth, and start to preview the day’s efforts on the flip-cam. It’s good stuff. Mr. Solway is ranting about how the designated hitter has ruined baseball, so we’re both holding back laughter as we watch. We already have enough footage for five videos. I can’t shake the feeling that we keep going back for more just because we don’t want it to end. Chase is having the same thoughts. “I’m going to keep visiting Mr. Solway even after we finish.” “I’ll come with you.” My response is instant, even though I had no idea I was going to say that. “Shosh?” I look up and there’s my mother in line at the register, carrying a small frozen yogurt cake. Suddenly, an expression of utter horror spreads across her face. “Mom? What’s wrong—?” Then I realize that she’s just recognized the person that I’m with, our heads together as we watch the tiny flip-cam screen. I never told anybody in my family who my partner is for the video contest, so I know how this must seem to Mom: that I’m cozied up, practically cheek to cheek, with the horrible bully who made Joel’s life unbearable and forced him out of town. “It’s not what it looks like!” I blurt. Her expression is carved from stone. “The car’s outside. I’ll drive you home.” “But, Mom—” “I said get in the car.” Chase stands up. “Mrs. Weber—” She’s been quiet up to now. But being addressed directly by Chase is too much for her. “How dare you speak to me?” she seethes, her entire body shaking. “Everyone in my family is off-limits to you! If I had my way, you and your filthy friends would be in juvenile hall!” I speak up again. “This is my fault, not his! If you have to blame someone, blame me!” “I am blaming you!” She hustles me out the door, tossing over her shoulder at Chase, “Stay away from my daughter!” “Can’t we talk about this?” I plead. “Oh, we’ll talk about this,” she agrees. “Trust me, by the time we’re through, your ears will be blistered.” We’re halfway home before either of us realizes that she never paid for the frozen yogurt cake.

In the evening after supper, Nicholas often sat in the family drawing room reading aloud while his wife and daughters sewed or embroidered. His choice, said Anna Vyrubova, who spent many of these cozy evenings with the Imperial family, might be Tolstoy, Turgenev or his own favorite, Gogol. On the other hand, to please the ladies, it might be a fashionable English novel. Nicholas read equally well in Russian, English and French and he could manage in German and Danish.

Rick smiled mischievously and said, "I think I'm going to learn 'Kisses sweeter than wine'. It's a fun one." Amelia laughed. "What it about?" "It's about a guy who falls in love with this girl who has kisses sweeter than wine. As you know, folk songs have a story to tell. Well, he asked her to marry him. At first she wouldn't accept his proposal, so he had to beg and plead with her." "Why didn't she want to marry him?" "I think she was worried about how it would change her life. She'd been on her own for quite some time and she had to get used to the idea." Amelia bit her lip and glanced down at her lap. With curiosity, she asked, "Did she finally accept his proposal?" "Yup. It just took her a while to realize he was the best thing that ever happened to her." Rick grinned. "She sort of reminds me of someone else I know.

It wasn’t about me anymore. I had a child. A husband who needed me to be there for him in the midst of what was turning out to be a terrible time to be making a living in agriculture. I didn’t have time to get mired in the angst of my own circumstances anymore. I didn’t have time for the past. My family--my new family--was all that mattered to me. My child. And always and forever, Marlboro Man. And then he appeared--walking down the basement steps in his Wranglers and rain-drenched boots. He stepped into the basement, a warm, gentle smile on his face. It was Marlboro Man. He was there. “Hey, Mama…,” he called. “It’s all fine.” The storm had passed us by, the funnel cloud dissipating before it could do any damage. “Hey, Daddy,” I answered. It was the first time I’d ever called him that. Looking on the ground at the water bottles and granola bars, he asked, “What’s all this for?” I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how long I’d be down here.” He laughed. “You’re funny,” he said as he scooped our sleeping baby from my arms and threw the blanket over his shoulder. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.” We walked across the yard to our cozy little white house, where we ate pot roast with mashed potatoes and watched The Big Country with Gregory Peck…and spent the night listening to a blessed September thunderstorm send rain falling from the sky.

Reports had long held that Bykov had backed Lebed with funds, hoping for a cozy relationship. But the enmity, the aide said, had run deep from the start. When Lebed arrived in town to assume the governorship, Bykov had come calling. The two had locked themselves in the governor’s office, told everyone to go home, taken off their suit coats, and brawled. “They beat the hell out of each other,” the aide said. “And the fight continues to this day.

I’d always had mixed feelings about maples. While others pointed them out as happy harbingers of the cozy season to come, they had always seemed to me to be reckless—the first small flames of fall, each dropping leaf a burning ember that spread the fire until every tree was bare and dead and the November snows came like ash. I’d learned not to share this opinion with others, as it was universally judged as incomprehensible. Everyone loved fall.

I’d always had mixed feelings about maples. While others pointed them out as happy harbingers of the cozy season to come, they had always seemed to me to be reckless—the first small flames of fall, each dropping leaf a burning ember that spread the fire until every tree was bare and dead and the November snows came like ash. I’d learned not to share this opinion with others, as it was universally judged as incomprehensible. Everyone loved fall.

Hey, we’ll let Huckleberry enjoy his lunch. Speaking of something, if you are in a better mood now, come with me to the Rainforest Room. I have something to show you. I wanted to wait until you calmed down because it means a lot to me, and I hoped you might be happy for me. Here, come with me.” He led her back to the previous room, which had amazing, rare rainforest plants in it. “Check this out!” He tossed her a magazine that said Horticultural Digest on the cover. Holly neatly caught it and opened it up to the dog-eared page. Blaring across the page in huge font was the title: WILLIAM SMITH, THE RAINMAKER OF SHELLESBY COLLEGE’S FAMOUS RAINFOREST ROOM. It was a five-page spread with big glossy photos of the Rainforest Room sprinkled throughout the article. “Five, count ‘em, five pages! That’s my record. Until now, they’ve only given me four. Check it out: I’m the Rainmaker, baby! Let it rain, let it rainnnn!” William stomped around in make-believe puddles on the floor. He picked up a garden hose lying along the side of the room and held it upright like an umbrella. “I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain. What a glorious feeling. I’m happy again.” Holly squealed with laughter and applauded. William jumped up on a large over-turned pot and shifted the hose to now play air guitar while he repeated the verse. “William, there is no air guitar in that song!” “There is now, baby!” Holly exploded again in laughter, clutching her sides. After a few more seconds of air guitar, William jumped off the pot and lowered his voice considerably. “Thank you, thank you very much,” William said in his Elvis impersonation. He now held the garden hose like a microphone and said, “My next song is dedicated to my beagle, my very own hound dog, my Sweetpea. Sweetpea, girl, this is for youuuuuuu.” He now launched into Elvis’s famous “Hound Dog.” “You ain’t nothing but a hound dogggg.” With this, he also twirled the hose by holding it tight two feet from the nozzle, then twirling the nozzle in little circles above his head like a lasso. “Work it, William! Work it!” Holly screamed in laughter. He did some choice hip swivels as he sang “Hound Dog,” sending Holly into peals of laughter. “William, stop! Stop! Where are you? I can’t see I’m crying so hard!” William dropped his voice even lower and more dramatically. In his best Elvis voice, he said, “Well, if you can’t find me darlin’, I’ll find you.” He dropped on one knee and gently picked up her hand. “Thank you, thank you very much,” he said in Elvis mode. “My next song, I dedicate to my one and only, to my Holly-Dolly. Little prickly pear, this one’s for youuuuuu.” He now launched into Elvis’s famous “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” “Take my hand, take my whole life, too, for I can’t help falling in love with you.” With that, he gave her hand a soft kiss. He then jumped up onto an empty potting table and spun around once on his butt, then pushed himself the length of the entire table, and slid off the far end. “Loose, footloose!” William picked up his garden-hose microphone again and kept singing. “Kick off the Sunday shoes . . .” He sang the entire song, and then Holly exploded in appreciative applause. He was breathing heavily and had a million-dollar smile on his face. “Hoo-wee, that was fun! I am so sweaty now, hoo-boy!” He splashed some water on his face, and then shook his hair. “William! When are you going to enter that karaoke contest at the coffee shop in town? They’re paying $1,000 to the winner of their contest. No one can beat you! That was unbelievable!” “That was fun.” William laughed. “Are in a better mood now?” “How can I not be? You are THE best!

When you find yourself with these old, familiar feelings of anxiety because your world is falling apart and you’re not measuring up to your image of yourself and everybody is irritating you beyond words because no one is doing what you want and everyone is wrecking everything and you feel terrible about yourself and you don’t like anybody else and your whole life is fraught with emotional misery and confusion and conflict, at that point just remember that you’re going through all this emotional upheaval because your coziness has just been, in some small or large way, addressed.

You’re too good to me.” “No. You’ve just never been treated the way you deserve. This is the bare minimum, Pumpkin.

It was a truly remarkable fall, with bright yellows, crisp oranges, and rusty reds speckling the streets, and the smells of pumpkin and spice lingering in the air. It was cozy—a time for knit sweaters and stolen slippers and long books read by the fire.

Excuse me. I have to speak to her. I’ll be right back.” By the time I caught up with her, Catherine was at the corner. She watched me approach with wary eyes, her bag clutched in front of her like a shield. “Come back. Elise will skin me alive if I let you leave.” I stopped in front of her, peering down at her. I always forgot how short she was since she didn’t seem short. Then again, this was the first time I had seen her outside a work environment. She was normally pressed and pristine, with neat hair and simple, classic clothing. Today, her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy, unruly bun, and she was cozy in a hoodie and leggings. “Please tell her I already ate.” She tugged at her hoodie, which was oversized everywhere except where it stretched over her belly. “I really feel way too schlubby to go to a restaurant, and all of you—” “You look nice. No one’s going to judge you for wearing a hoodie when you’re thirty-seven weeks—” “Wait, you know how many weeks I am?” Her brow knitted in confusion. “Of course. You told me five weeks ago. Five plus thirty-two equals thirty-seven. It isn’t difficult.” “Oh.

Some of us don’t have time for patience. Some of us like to grab life by the marshmallows and burn them.

But there was something extra special about the fall in Pleasant Grove. This town had always been a secret haven for witches, a cozy little town full of covens, where magic was ordinary.

You see, life is an inherently benevolent process. When you start to view your life with even a smidgen of detachment, the curtains begin to draw back. You see that, for starters, you actually can indeed draw back the curtains, and then you see the old dusty stage set that is ready to go. And you choose just that: you choose for it to go; you choose to purify. You choose to unshackle the gorgeous beast within, to let it out and talk to it, to see what it wants. You choose to run your fingers through its crazy, ratty hair, pulling out whatever little bugs got too cozy in there over the years. You give it a glass of water and a shower, and you show it the sun. You welcome it. All of this to say: Get to know the master within you. Fall at the feet of your Self.

Tree House   This jungle tree house build is both fun and rewarding, especially once you get finished in the evening and can watch the sun set from the patio of your new house suspended a hundred feet in the air. Here’s how to get started.   Once you locate a jungle biome in your world, pick out a few tall trees that are close to each other:         Start by building a platform around one of the trees and adding columns at the corners to support a half-roof:           With the columns in place, begin adding on a roof, using stairs as the roof portions. Note that all of the wood I’m using for this build is jungle wood.             Add fencing between the columns to keep people from falling out, leaving a space on one side for your patio. Create the patio using bottom stone slabs for a lower portion where a fountain/waterfall will go, then using top stone slabs for the eating area.               Once the patio is completed, you can use pressure plates on top of fence posts for tables, stairs for chairs and then use a water bucket to create a nice flow of water through a hole in the patio. Fences around the perimeter keep people safe and a few torches keep things well-lit.   Next, find a nearby tree and construct a second platform:           Make sure the second platform is surrounded by fending as well, then connect both platforms with stairs and wood planks, adding in fencing on the sides for safety:           This new platform will be the sleeping area, and three sets of beds arranged around the tree in the middle look cozy and inviting. Top this platform off with a few torches and you’re set!         Adding some jungle leaves above the platform will protect sleepers below from getting wet when it rains, and will help keep things looking natural and open.         Go back to the main platform and construct an additional, smaller platform above it:         Cut a hole in both platforms and add a tall ladder going from the uppermost platform down to the ground, passing through the main platform on its way. At the bottom, add a landing with torches and stairs leading down to the beach:           Clear the upper platform of leaves and then add on fencing for safety, torches for light and use a staircase and wooden slab to create long chairs that people can sit on to watch the sunsets. A pair of stairs on the sides of the upper platform add additional seating for more guests:             Wow! This tree house looks amazing! You’ve got all of the basic set up, so now it’s up to you to take it to the next level! Add in more personal touches, expand the tree house with more connected platforms or build even higher into the jungle!  

What falls away is always. And is near. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I learn by going where I have to go.’” What falls away is always. And is near. “That’s lovely.” “It’s from a poem by Theodore Roethke.

I’m in agreement with you now about the not-watching part,” she said. Jane and Mr. Nobley walked back to the house in silence, the air around them thick, dragging with awkwardness. Witnessing confessions of love and first kisses can be enchanting when you’re with someone comfortable, someone you’ve already had that kiss with, and can laugh about it and feel cozy and remember your own first moment. Seeing it with Mr. Nobley was like having a naked-in-public dream. “It’s only natural to confuse truth and fantasy as they play parts in a theatrical,” said Jane. “They start to feel as their characters would.” “True. Which is one reason why I was hesitant to engage in this frivolity. I do not think pretending something can make it real.” “I find it a little alarming that we agree on something. But do you think, in their case anyway, do you think those feelings could run deeper?” Mr. Nobley stopped. He looked at her. “I wondered the same.” “I suppose it’s possible.” “It’s more than possible. They reside in compatible stations in life, they have like minds, their sentiments seem suited to each other.” “You sound like a textbook on matrimony. I’m talking about love, Mr. Nobley. Despite falling in love over a script, do you think they have a chance?” Mr. Nobley frowned and rubbed his sideburns briskly with the back of his fingers. “I…I knew Captain East in the past when he loved another woman. Her changes, her cruelty broke him. He was a shell for some time. If you had asked me last month if another woman’s attentions could make him a whole man again, I would have said that no man can recover from such a wound, that he will never be able to trust a woman again, that romantic love is not air or water and one can live without it. But now…” He breathed out. He had not looked away from her. “Now I do not know. Now I almost begin to think, yes. Yes.” “Yes,” she repeated. The moon hung in the sky just over his shoulder, peering as though listening in, breathless for what was next. “Miss Erstwhile.” “Yes?” He looked at the sky, he took several breaths as if trying to locate the right words, he briefly shut his eyes. “Miss Erstwhile, do you--” Captain East and Miss Heartwright passed by, walking close without touching. Mr. Nobley watched them, his frown deepening, then he looked back over his shoulder at nothing. What? What?! Jane wanted to yell. “Shall we go inside?” He offered his arm. She felt dumped-on-her-rear disappointment, but she took his arm and pretended she was just fine. Soon the warm safety of roof and walls cut off the luscious strangeness of night in the garden. Servants scurried, candles blazed, the preparations for the play were lively and unconcerned with a moment in the park. Without another word, Mr. Nobley left her alone, his jacket still around her shoulders. It smelled like gardens.

But these beasts are acting in the real world, understand? You can snoop and write and say rude things about them from your hidey-hole all you want, but they are gonna be out there stomping on wee helpless fae and setting humans up for a big fall until someone moves their real-life arse in the real-life world and puts a stop to it. And if you won’t do it, I’m just gonna run off and hide somewhere cozy until it’s over.

Her tent was far enough away that she could call for help without necessarily being heard. Of course, she might also cry out for pleasanter reasons. Decided, he moved through the thickening dusk, drew aside the tent flap, and stepped inside. Kassandra was just finishing her bath. It was an indulgence to cart about the canvas-and-wood tub that had to be filled laboriously with buckets when she could have managed with just a basin. She admitted as much, but savored the bath all the same. After the long day, and the days before it, she needed the calming peace of hot water and blessed quiet. She would have lingered longer but the water cooled rapidly. Rising, she reached for the towel she had left on a stool beside the tub. Only to have it handed to her. She gasped and whirled around to find Royce surveying her with obvious appreciation. “You were very far away,” he said. “I was not!” Grasping the towel, she wrapped it around herself even as she felt ridiculous for doing so. It was hardly as though the man had not seen her naked before. Seen, touched, tasted, savored…Never mind about that now. “You walk too quietly,” she accused. “A hideous failing,” he replied, looking pleased with himself. He glanced around the tent. “Cozy.” “Comfortable, as I am sure yours is.” He raised a brow and with it, beckoned a blush. She was not a hypocrite. He had shared her bed for four nights and were they in the palace, he would be sharing it again. It was just that they were out in public, as it were, with none of the privacy to be found in her own quarters. But she had not moved away from him on the ship and, truth be told, she did not want to do so now. “You are caught,” he said. At her puzzled look, he added, “On the horns of propriety. It’s an awkward place to be.” “I’m not trying to conceal anything.” “I realize that, but you are trying not to make a display of what has happened between us, not force people to deal with it at a time when they are deeply concerned and anxious.” “Yes,” she said on a breath of relief. He truly did understand. “That’s it exactly.” “Kassandra…” He reached out a hand but let it fall without touching her. “Whatever lies ahead of us, my concern right now is for your safety. You are alone here in this tent and it is set a little apart from the others. If you like, I’ll sleep outside but I’m not leaving you by yourself tonight.” She had not thought of that, had not considered that he would be worried about her in such a situation. Belatedly, she realized that her own vision had blinded her. She knew this was not the time or place, but he knew nothing of the sort. And he wanted to protect her. He really did. Tears stung her eyes but she would not let them fall. The towel was a different matter. She went to him without it.

It’s probably a good idea to warn you about Grandma Melvyn in case you’re expecting her to be a sweet little grandma who brings me cookies and milk and knits me cozy blankies. She’s not. But if you have an extra grandma like that, I’m interested. Grandma Melvyn is not even my real grandma. She’s not anyone’s grandma. She’s my great-great-aunt, but trust me, it doesn’t matter how many “greats” you put in front of her title—there is nothing great about her. Dad started calling her Grandma Melvyn after our real grandma died. I guess he felt sorry for her because she didn’t have anyone to call her Grandma. This might be a good time to point out that feeling sorry for Grandma Melvyn is like kissing a scorpion. You get over the idea real fast. I know that sounds mean, but it’s not. All it takes is one look at Grandma Melvyn to understand. She’s about as tall as a mailbox and she wears glasses that are two inches thick and make her eyes look as big as baseballs. You can see every vein and every floater and sometimes, when she gets mad, her eyeballs wobble. That is not something you want to see. Trust me. I once saw her make a nine-year-old cry at his own birthday party. Okay, it was me. But you’d cry, too, if she gave you the Wicked Wobble Eye. Grandma Melvyn never smiles and she never ever, ever laughs. Did I mention never? One last thing about Grandma Melvyn. She calls everybody “Trixie.” And I mean everybody! Keep reading. You’ll see what I mean. When Ape Boy yelled, I ran out of the kitchen and looked out the dining room window. Uncle Pete was trying to help Grandma Melvyn up the sidewalk. Every couple of steps, she pushed him away and waved her cane at him like a fencer with a foil. Then she tottered forward a bit and tilted to the right, then the left and backward, until she looked like she would fall over. Even through the window glass, I could hear her yell, “Get over here, Trixie! Are you going to let an old lady fall down and die out here in this zoysia wasteland you call a yard? Zoysia? Who plants zoysia?” Uncle Pete grabbed Grandma Melvyn’s arm and helped her for a couple of steps, until she pushed him away and the whole thing started all over again, like some weird modern dance. Aunt

STRAWBERRY RHUBARB JAM Makes 3 pints 4 cups of chopped strawberries (about 2 pounds) 2 cups of chopped rhubarb (about 1 pound) 4 cups sugar 3 tablespoons powdered pectin 1 lemon, zested and juiced Prepare a boiling water bath canner and 3 pint jars. Place the chopped berries and rhubarb in a large, non-reactive pot. Whisk the pectin into the sugar and stir it into the berries. Let it sit for 10-15 minutes, until the sugar has begun to dissolve. Place the pot on the stove and bring to a boil. Cook jam over high heat, stirring regularly for 20-25 minutes, until it takes on a thick, syrup-y consistency. Add the lemon zest and juice and stir well. Check for set by taking the temperature of the cooking jam (it should set around 220F) or by watching how the droplets fall off the spoon. Remember that it will thicken as it cools, so don’t cook it so long that it achieves your desired consistency while still hot. Remove the jam from the heat and ladle it into the prepared jars, leaving 1/2 inch. Wipe the rims, apply the lids and rings and process them in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. When the time is up, remove the jars and set them on a folded kitchen towel to cool. When the jars have cooled enough that you can comfortably handle them, check the seals. Sealed jars can be stored at room temperature for up to a year. Any unsealed jars should be refrigerated and used promptly.

A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves — for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges.

bothers me that someone used my knife. I’ve backtracked that evening and decided I either dropped it while I was walking, though the pockets on my cloak are deep, and it would have been hard for something to fall out. Or someone took it from the booth.” He vehemently shook his head. “I have a hard time believing that. The booth is warded against such things.” My head told me the same thing. “I know, but I’m trying to cover all angles. Do you know who cast the spell over it that night?” “Jocelyn did.” I dropped my shoulders, feeling defeated. “She does have powerful magic that would be hard to break.” He nodded. “Though, now that you mention it, I do recall Fern telling me that a spell can be undone if a person knows how and has an equal or greater power than the witch who cast it.” I tilted my head to the side, happy for the branch that he’d extended that still gave me hope. “True. It’s not easy, but it can be done. The question is, who would want to do it?” He looked at me matter-of-factly. “Whoever wanted to kill Merry, I’d expect.” I snorted softly. I’d meant that who would want to do it…so that they could harm Merry. But whatever. “Okay then. You were at the booth all night. Did anyone get close enough that they could undo the spell?” He held up a gnarled pointer finger. “I did leave the booth at one point to use the restroom. Oriana covered

I picked up the orange candle and brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply. I groaned. This was the most perfect pumpkin spice candle I had ever smelled. I was going to have to get it. I set it down and picked up a darker orange candle, and smelled it. It was cinnamon spice.

Should I call you Autie?” I say her nickname out loud. It’s adorable. “Actually, you should call her Pumpkin,” Julie says, nudging Autumn in the side. She turns to me. “No. No, do not call me that.” I chuckle, gripping the warm cup. Her cheeks are bright red. “Have a good day, Pumpkin.” It comes out in a deep gruff and she chews on the corner of her lip. “You too,” she whispers as I turn and walk toward the door.

Falling in love with me wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you, would it?” “No. Losing you would,” he says. “Goodnight.

I’m afraid of growing attached then having to navigate a world without knowing you.

You love horror and write romance. You’re sunshine and darkness all rolled into one,” I say.

For once, I want to live and experience the life I’ve missed out on. I have to stop mourning a life I’ve never had and change the one I have. I crave things money can’t buy—happiness and true love.

You’re scared,” she says. “But you’ll say yes and it will be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. You’re his queen, the only woman who can sit beside him, not only as his wife, but as his equal. You’ve been waiting for confirmation that he’s the man in your dreams. He is and always has been. Twin flames. Mirrored souls.

The order prints out and on the side it says: Your boyfriend. Large. Order: Surprise him with your yummy goodness.

Who is that?” Billie asks with awe in her tone. I smile wide. “My future wife.

There is nothing better than fall, the way in which the earth seems to hug us, cocooning us in its cozy grip. Fall is the season for reading. Fall is the season for pumpkin-spiced drinks. Fall is the season for sweaters. Fall is my definition of peace, the utter epitome of relaxation.

After all, one could hardly forget a voice that was clearly still alive in one's head.

Falling in love with me wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you, would it?

No. Losing you would,” he says. “Goodnight.

UNCONVENTIONAL DESTINATION WEDDING LOCALES Destination Wedding Jan 6 This wedding season, fall in love with endearing unconventional destination wedding locales Theme Weavers Designs Since all the travel restrictions have been lifted, destination weddings are back in vogue. However, the pandemic has led to a major paradigm shift. In this case, Indian couples are looking into hidden gems to take on as their wedding destination, instead of opting for an international location. With the rich cultural heritage and a myriad of local traditions, it has been observed by industry insiders that couples feel closer to their past and history after getting married in a regional wedding destination. At the same time, it is a very cumbersome task to find the perfect wedding destination - it has to be perfectly balanced in terms of the services it offers as well as having breathtaking views. This wedding season, choose something offbeat, by opting for an unexplored destination, that is both visually appealing and has a romantic vibe to them. Start off your wedding journey with an auspicious location. Rishikesh, on the banks of the holy river Ganges is one of the most sacred places a couple can tie the knot. This tiny town’s interesting traditions, picturesque locales, and ancient customs make this one of the most underrated places to get married in india. Perfect for a riverside wedding in extravagant outdoor tents, this wedding season, it is high time Rishikesh gets the hype it deserves. “The Glasshouse on the Ganges,” is one of the most stunning places to get married. While becoming informed travellers, this place is interred with a vast and vibrant cultural history. It offers an extremely unique experience as it revitalises ruined architectural wonders for the couple to tour or get married in, making it a heartwarming and wonderful experience for all those who are involved. Steep your wedding party in the lap of nature, in Naukuchiatal, Nainital, Uttarakhand. This place is commonly referred to as “treasure of natural beauty,” where it offers mesmerising natural spectacles for a couple to get married in a gorgeous outdoor ceremony. Away from the hustle and bustle of the urban jungles that have slowly been taking over the Indian subcontinent, this location provides a much needed breath of fresh air. This location also provides much needed reprieve from the fast paced lifestyle that we live, making a wedding a truly relaxing affair. As this is a quaint hill station, surrounded with lush greens, there are numerous ideas to create a natural and sustainable wedding. The most distinguishing feature of this location is the nine-cornered lake, situated 1,220 m above sea level. There is something classic and timeless about the Kerala backwaters. This location is enriching and chock full of unique cultural traditions. With spectacular and awe-inspiring views of the backwaters, Kumarakom in Kerala easily qualifies as one of the top wedding destinations in india. Just like Naukuchiatal, this space is a study in serenity, where it is far away from the noisy streets and bazaars. Perfect for a cozy and intimate wedding, the Kerala backwaters are a gorgeous choice for couples who are opting for a socially distant wedding, along with having a lot of indigenous flora and fauna. Punctuated with the salty sea and the sultry air, the backwaters in Kerala are an underrated gem that presents couples with a unique wedding location that is perfect for a historical and regal wedding. The beaches of Goa and the forts of Rajasthan are a classic for a reason, but at the same time, they can get boring. Couples have been exploring more underrated wedding locations in order to experience the diverse local cultures of India that can also host their weddings

Almost all of the USFL veterans interviewed for this book considered the Donald Trump of the mid-1980s and the Donald Trump of 2017 to be eerily familiar. Thirty-three years after insisting his fellow owners would pay for Doug Flutie, he was insisting Mexico would pay for a border wall. Thirty-three years after being accused of cozying up to Pete Rozelle, he was being accused of cozying up to Vladimir Putin. Thirty-three years after Roy Cohn and Harvey Myerson, his chief advisers were the equally controversial Steve Bannon and Stephen Miller. Thirty-three years after insisting the USFL needed to move to fall ASAP (then lacking a concrete plan for implementation), he was insisting America needed a ban on immigration ASAP (then lacking a concrete plan for implementation).

I’m having one of those days where it feels as though my tummy might explode. Maybe explode isn’t the right word, and tummy certainly isn’t the technical term. Uterus would be more specific, although I don’t think of it that way, since to me a uterus is something dark and cozy, hidden deep inside my body and housing an adorable cherub who’s yawning and stretching before rolling back over to fall asleep. Instead, my entire abdomen feels as though something horrid is stretching it taut from the inside out — working its way slowly to the surface like a wombat on the hunt for carrots. The wombat kicks fiercely against my bladder, bringing a grimace to my face as I do my best to ignore his repeated taps.

I tugged my threadbare men's T-shirt off and wiggled my tits into a sports bra before throwing an oversized Vampire Diaries sweatshirt over the top. It’d been a joke gift from Seph a few years ago because it read Mystic Falls Timberwolves. But it was also super cozy, so I wore it way more than I should.

The happiness of pleasure is largely sensory. It’s a good meal when you’re hungry, the smell of air after it rains, waking up warm and cozy in your bed. The happiness of grace is gratitude. It’s looking over to see the love of your life sleeping next to you and whispering, “thank you.” It’s taking inventory of what you do have. It’s when you speak to something greater than yourself, expressing humility and awe. And then there is the happiness of excellence. The kind of happiness that comes from the pursuit of something great. Not the moment you arrive at the top of the mountain and raise your fists in victory, but the process of falling in love with the hike. It is meaningful work. It is flow. It is the purpose that sears identity and builds character and channels our energy toward something greater than the insatiable, daily pursuit of our fleeting desires.

Flowers are reminders of the great outdoors, of movies and romance. They cheer you up—they are pleasures. They make me feel like I have my act together, that I won’t fall off the edge. Flowers aren’t only for you, but also for others—they bring happiness so easily.

A CoMi will want to hang her drapes in such a way that, when open, the drapes fall against the wall on either side of the window. The inner edge of the drapes will just cover the outer edge of the window pane to create the illusion that the window keeps going on either side behind the drapes. This makes your window appear larger, which adds more visual interest yet still maximizes the view and natural light.

I like the fall,” I confide, “All the leaves changing, everything getting cozy.

LOVELY AUTUMN Sitting by a cozy fireplace, Watching the leaves fall to the ground, Orange, yellow, red, purple, gold and brown.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat Row, row, row your boat Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily Life is but a dream. Preparation and Instructions: Sit on the floor with your legs crossed. Have the child sit in your lap with his back to your front. Put your arms around the child, holding him snugly. The child is now sitting inside a wonderful, cozy “boat.” The Game: Rock side to side or back and forth as you sing the song. After you sing the song once, say to the child, “Oh, my gosh, a storm is coming. I have to hold you tight so you won’t fall out of the boat.” At this point, begin to roll around from side to side as if the boat were in stormy waters, holding the child closer and closer. Sing the song again in a loud, stormy voice. After you sing the song one time in stormy seas, say, “The storm is over, the sea is calm.” Return to your gentle rocking side to side and back and forth, singing the song once again in a calm, soothing voice. Variations: My grandfather used to play this game with me.* During the storm part, he would say, “Oh no, we have hit a rock. We are going down. I will save you.” Then he would lift me up and put me on his shoulders to save me from drowning in the sea. From here he would carry me to the dinner table or to bed. Snuggle Up Preparation and Instructions: A “safe place” is an alternative to time out.

Being a grown-up is tough thing. We can't choose who we fall in love with, or who falls in love with us. Whatever happens in your life, Kitty, you need to remember that you can't change the way someone feels about you. Love is a terribly odd emotion, and can have very little to do with common sense. Sometimes it's a cozy, comfortable feeling, like tucking yourself up in a lovely warm blanket, but other times it just washes over you completely, and you simply can't help yourself.

He went on to explain that Raoul, one of the resort’s desk clerks, was found inside the walk-in freezer in the kitchen. “At first, we believed it was an isolated incident and he somehow managed to accidentally become trapped inside,

The rain began to fall once more, but that was okay with me, because somewhere beyond the clouds, the sun was still shining.

Fall has a big job of taking us from summer to pre-Christmas.

When fall term started two months ago, I had no idea I was going to be accused of murder.

Loss is deeply rooted inside of me and I’m afraid it’s tethered to my heart. Life would be easier if I were the heartless bastard people believe I am.

A breath of relief escapes me because I’d assumed the worse. It’s something I have to stop doing. He deserves a fair chance.

It shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t feel like home. It shouldn’t feel like I want to do this again and again and again. But it does.

the kiss deepens further. I whimper against him and I’m lost in this moment. Nothing else in the world matters.

See you tonight, Pumpkin,” he says. “Yes,” I say, surprised I can even form words because I’m pretty sure he stole my soul when our lips touched.

Maybe my dreams were really a warning to stay away from the tall, attractive man with messy hair and deep blue eyes.

Ah, right. Almost forgot. You go for total jerks who need their mouths taped shut in public settings.

Thank you.” I give her a sarcastic grin. I'm glad she believes that’s who I am. It's best for both of us if she stays away from me. Broken people break people, and I don't want to do that to her or anyone.

No way I’m drowning in those baby blues again.

Fuck,” he hisses, and his hand is on my cheek as my fingers slide against the softness of his neck.

If I didn’t care about you, I’d fuck you right now.

I would help out this woman in crisis, just once, and then I could go back to ignoring the world. I growled loud enough that a passing woman pulled her kid to another aisle. It wasn’t much as far as supplies went: the catastrophic half-and-half, a few protein bars, some trail mix, fresh ground coffee, a couple of cases of water, extra toilet paper and paper towels, and some fresh fruit jam from Sutton Farms. And vegetables. And a couple of extra blankets for when the temps dropped this week, as predicted. Maybe a fresh loaf of bread from Cozy Creek Confectionery and some sharp cheese to pair with the jam. Hopefully, she wasn’t gluten-free. I would not be getting her special bread.

An intelligent woman once told me it always does and that we shouldn’t stress about things that haven’t happened yet.

I fall asleep on Christmas Eve wrapped once again in Aaron's arms and feeling totally content. Full of delicious food and great conversation and cozy memories and that sense of warmth and home that has always evaded me—especially around the holidays—but is now, unbelievably, more and more present in my life.

The Evergreen Christmas Party" Once upon a time, in a snowy forest, there was a cozy log cabin. Mr. and Mrs. Evergreen lived there, and they loved Christmas. Every year, they had a big Christmas party for all the children in the village. One day, the first snowflakes of winter began to fall. The children were so excited! They put on their warm hats, scarves, and mittens and grabbed their sleds. They raced down a snowy hill, laughing and having fun. Inside the cabin, Mrs. Evergreen was baking cookies and making hot cocoa. The smell was delicious! She decorated a big Christmas tree with shiny lights and colorful ornaments. Mr. Evergreen was busy getting a special chair ready for a surprise guest. As the sun went down, the children came to the cabin. They were greeted by the warm glow of the lights and the yummy smell of cookies. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mr. Evergreen opened it, and there stood Santa Claus! The children were amazed. Santa came inside and listened to the children’s Christmas wishes. He gave them gifts and told them stories about the North Pole. Everyone sang Christmas songs and danced. It was the best party ever! When it was time to go, Santa waved goodbye and promised to come back next year. The children watched as Santa’s sleigh flew into the night sky, feeling happy and full of Christmas magic. From that day on, the Evergreen Christmas party was the best part of the year. Everyone in the village looked forward to it, knowing it would be filled with love, joy, and a little bit of magic.