Falkner Quotes

Real men bake cakes. And pies. And cookies. And other shit.

I want you to be my girlfriend.” “What does that mean?” … He looks confused. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the same as being my friend, but I get to make you come.

Life is like a book. There are good chapters, and there are bad chapters. But when you get to a bad chapter, you don’t stop reading the book! If you do… then you never get to find out what happens next!

My family means the world to me. Without them, I am nothing.

You don't get to pick who you fall in love with.

Suck every moment from life. We should all do more of that.

God, he’s so handsome when he smiles. And when he’s not smiling. And when he’s sleeping. And when he’s awake. And when he’s breathing.

We are our memories," Dodge said. "That's all we are. That's what makes us the person we are. The sum of all our memories from the day we were born. If you took a person and replaced his set of memories with another set, he'd be a different person. He'd think, act, and feel things differently.

This girl will shred me. I already know she will. And I’m jumping in with everything I am anyway.

I know you love her, and, hell, I love her too. And Matt would throw you off a bridge if he thought he could have her.” … “Ew,” Matt complains. “I don’t like her like that.” He points a finger in my face. “But I will throw you off a bridge if you hurt her.

Fate is the malevolent little jester sitting up in the heavens and pondering over how ridiculous we humans are and he does his best to make fools out of all of us. And sooner or later he succeeds.

I’m not usually this emotional,” I say. He shrugs. “All women say that. It usually precedes an episode of batshit craziness.

She said, "You may be able to implant an image, even a taste or a smell, but I don't think you can implant the feelings that went with the experience that created the memory.

When a woman grows up, she accepts the love she thinks she deserves.

I am overflowing with words I do not have.

I've been locked in my own world for a really long time," he says. I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo..." I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. "And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out.

I want you more than I want air.

Illusions connected with religion are generally most difficult to remove.

Loved you then. Love you now.

You sorry fucker,” Paul says. “If I didn’t love your sorry ass so much, I’d have to hate you.

There are some girls you sleep with. And then there are other girls you want to sleep with so badly that you hurt, but you don’t because they’re special.

The Reeds take people in like they’re family. Anyone. The only requirement is that you have a pulse. And if you don’t have a heart, they’ll give you theirs.

I’ve never done this with someone who matters. With someone I’m in love with. Jesus, girl, you make me crazy.

He's the peace in my soul.

We thought there was no more behind But such a day tomorrow as today And to be a boy eternal.

If I ever get to fucking be inside you, I want to know what to call you. I want to at least know your name. Because when that happens, you’re going to fucking own me.” I tip her face up so she’s looking at me. “Do you understand?” She looks unsure. “You’re going to own me … And there’s nothing I want more.

He laughs with no sound. God, he's so handsome when he smiles. And when he's not smiling. And when he's sleeping. And when he's awake. And when he's breathing.

He squeezes my hand. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, cupcake,” he says. “I just wish you could love me back.

I look up, and I can’t keep from grinning at him. “You’re in my space,” I warn. “I like being in your space. I kind of want to be all up in your space,

Life's not about the moments of pleasure you, yourself can experience. It's about pleasurable moments you share with someone else that really matter.

She’s the one, huh? he asks. Maybe … I don’t know. He nods. Good. Good what? If anybody deserves a happily ever after, Matt, it’s you.

As in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make something of the worst of throws.

You need a lesson on the birds and the bees?” Paul asks. “You put tab A into slot B.” He makes a crude gesture with his fingers. “Or tab A into slot C.” He grins. “Or Tab A into slot D. But some girls don’t like that, so don’t start there. You might even save that for a birthday or special occasion. Yours. Not hers.

You have to grab hold to love when it finds you,” he says. “Sometimes it’s work. And sometimes it’s wonderful. But never take it for granted. Because when your life is over and you look back, it’s the only fucking thing that ever mattered.

I want to be the be-all and end-all when it comes to my daughter. I want to be the man that every other man has to look up to. I will treat her like a princess because if I don’t, she might go out and latch on to the first man who does. So yeah, I open car doors and I take her on dates and I buy her flowers for no reason. Because I want her to know she’s worthy of all of those things. And I fix hair.

the true definition of manhood is doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done. It doesn’t matter if it’s fixing hair, changing the oil in the car, or washing dishes. If it needs to be done, it gets done. That’s manhood. It’s instilling in our daughters that dads can and will do anything that needs to be accomplished.

But since then, it seemed he had been caught up in a hurricane, whirling from one thing to another with scarcely enough time to catch a breath. Perhaps that was good. Because if he stopped and took the time to think about things too deeply, dark thoughts started to intrude.

You’re responsible for your happiness and taking care of your heart. Only you. Other people contribute to your happiness, certainly, but you can’t wait for anyone to make you happy, Sky. Nobody is going to do that for you.

Every woman is someone’s daughter. Someone at home loves her. And you devalue her and every other female by referring to women as bitches and hos.” I’m from the neighborhood. I could spout off a lot coarser words than they could probably imagine. But they get the idea. “The girl you’re with is someone’s daughter. You have to remember that when you treat a woman poorly.

I want you, Reagan. I want every piece of you.” “Even the shattered pieces?” she asks. I bracket her face with my hands and pull her face up to mine. “I’ll be the glue that puts you back together,

...at some point you need to stop looking out at others and start looking inward, at yourself, at your own accomplishments, at your own foibles, at your own successes and your own failures. It's only when you begin to look inward that you can begin to have an effect on those out there, the ones with the greedy eyes and outstretched hands.

So, you’re the last one to fall,” he says. He’s serious all of a sudden. “I never really worried about you. I worried more about Pete, because I knew you had more ability to love than any of the rest of us.” “What makes you say that?” “I don’t know,” he hedges. “You just wore your heart on your sleeve. You love, and you love well and true. That’s one of your strengths.

Stop fucking trying to dig into my psyche. It doesn’t like visitors. It likes its solitude. It likes the cobwebs in the fucking attic, so stop trying to clean them up.

God, I can’t breathe when I’m around you, Peck. I can’t think. I love you, and I don’t want to be apart from you. Ever.

I love you completely, princess

There are very few things in my life that I can control,and someone touching my body is one of them.

Just because something is beyond the realm of what we already know doesn’t make it impossible

Rape, pillage, plunder, gouge, extort, and beat... your imagination.

Normal is just a setting on the dryer, Star.

Falkner sometimes thought her heart was a voodoo doll, full of pins. One each for Ben and the girls. One for each member of the team. She felt the new pin slide in and hoped for the best.

Do you know who I am?" His voice started to rise, growing louder and louder with each word. "I am a very important man in this town. I am . . ." Cecilia was wise enough to know that anyone who had to tell you how important he was was nowhere near as important as he thought he was.

Sam said, "How do any of us know that anything is real?" "We don't," Dodge said. "Everything I know is a memory," Sam continued. "Every person I ever met, everything I have ever done. It could all be false. Implanted." It was a staggering thought. What if nothing that had gone before had ever really happened? Was the person he remembered as his mother even real? Had Fargas existed only in his mind? "I think you'd know," Vienna said. "I don't know why, but somehow, I think you'd know.

Cecilia listened carefully. There it was: a low rasp of breath, in and out. With all the snoring around them she hadn't noticed it before. She couldn't tell how far away it was, but it sounded close. That was the last thing they needed. An insomniac lion.

You can try out my piercing after you fall in love with me, okay?” “What?” “I kind of need for you to love me, Peck.” He’s quiet but fierce. “You’re not in love with me yet, are you?” “Um…” I don’t know how to answer him. “It’s okay. Don’t rush it. I can wait.

You think I need to be loved calmly and carefully,” she says slowly. I nod, sucking my piercing into my mouth to toy with it. “You want to know what I think?” she asks. “What?” I grunt. Apparently, I’ve turned into a caveman who can only speak in monosyllables. “I think I need to be loved… completely.

Thou [John] art my diamond, and I would rather lose all other diamonds in the world than aught should come to thee. So, if thou doubtest, let me go, or let not any go at all.

Have a care how you touch the treasure; it was evilly come by, and will bring a curse with it.

When a man sits down in quietness to listen to the teachings of his spirit, many things will come to him in knowledge and understanding. ~ ~ ~

The first thing you have to remember is that you can’t fight with a woman unless what you’re fighting about is worth it. You just can’t. You won’t win. Never. Ever.

That’s what life is all about. The obvious. The minute we start layering it with shades of grey, we start getting caught in quicksand.

You’re not easy to love, because you can’t love me back. But you might one day. I’ll wait.

I don’t know.” I flop back on the bed with a groan. “What do I do?” “Him,” Fin calls. “Do him. Then let him do you. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Don’t leave me again,” he says. “I won’t.

I’m not usually this emotional,” I say. He shrugs. “All women say that. It usually precedes an episode of batshit craziness.

I wish I could get better for you, Faith,” I say. She shakes her head again and lays her flat hand upon my heart. I cover it with mine. “Get better for you, Daniel. Just for you.

I see you,” I say quietly to her. “Well, I hope so,” she whispers back. I look into her eyes. “No, Faith. I mean I really see you. I see you. All of you.

Poverty’s a chilly theme,” he said; “let’s take something to warm us before we go on with the variations.

Is there any depression so deep as this? is there any night so dark as this first eclipse of the soul, this first conscious stilling of the instinct for right?

He was in that broken mood for which the Middle Ages offered the cloister as a remedy; he felt the urgent need of sacrifice and abnegation to purge him.

I have a thing for you,” I admit. I wince inwardly because it sounds so lame. “A thing?” “A big thing.” Her gaze drops. “Not that thing.

But art thou sure, little chick?" Cecilia thought that if the King called her a little chick one more time she would set fire to his beard.

You make me want to wake up,” I say. I close my eyes as soon as the words touch the cold air, because I didn’t mean to say them out loud. “Then wake the fuck up,” she says back playfully. She inches a little closer, until her chest touches mine. “I don’t know if I can. Time stopped for me a long time ago.” I glance at my watch. “Look around you,” she says quietly. There’s a soft smile on her face, and her eyes don’t look away from my face as I take in the city. It’s just starting to wake. People scurry from place to place, and traffic is moving. “Time didn’t stop. You did.

Do it or I'll make you do it," the big bear guard said in a low rasp. "Make me? What are you going to do?" she asked, starting to get angry. "Throw me in a dungeon? I'm only ten. That wouldn't be very nice.

You see her as this broken little thing that needs you to take care of her. She doesn’t need that. She might have been broken at one time, but she’s not fucking broken now. She’s put it all back together. She’s made a life for herself, and you’re trying to change it. It’s kind of like she’s built this fortress around herself, brick by fucking brick, and you might think a fortress is too much, but it’s not. Do you know why?” I can only sit and stare at him. “Do you want to know why?” he asks. I nod. My heart is in my fucking throat. “Because she fucking lives there, Paul. It’s home for her. It’s safe and it’s secure and it’s hers. And she built it with her own two hands. So for you to swoop in and not only try to move her out of her fortress but also to tear it down, you’re fucking up everything she’s worked for.

...Will you not join me in a cup of cocoa? The kettle boils.” Mr Sharnall’s face fell. “You ought to have been an old woman,” he said; “only old women drink cocoa. Well, I don’t mind if I do; any port in a storm.

Westray remembered the organist’s manner in the church, and began to suspect that his mind was turned. The other read his thoughts, and said rather reproachfully: “Oh no, I am not mad—only weak and foolish and very cowardly.

We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain that we shall carry nothing out. When that comes into my mind, I think rather of the little things rather than of gold or lands. Intimate letters that a man treasured more than money; little tokens of which the clue has died with him; the unfinished work to which he was coming back, and never came; even the unpaid bills that worried him; for death transfigures all, and makes the commonplace pathetic.

An elephant trumpeted, raising its trunk into the sky, as they flew overhead. To the untrained eye, it seemed like a greeting. But Cecilia, although she didn't speak Elephant very well, knew that it was really saying, "What the heck is that?

It must be a matter of constant surprise to dogs that humans never actually get any smarter and just keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Of course cats figured this out years ago, which is why they treat humans with such contempt.

She’s not in the right position for what I want,” … He grins. “Well, what position did you want her in?” “Shut up,” I grouse. “If she’s in the wrong position, flip her the fuck over.” He throws up his hands. “Hell, turn her upside down if you have to.

That same day, Rocky had opened his eyes for the first time and looked around him, and Cecilia had cried and hugged him. He licked her, and she asked him to stop because it was all gooey. He said he was sorry, but he couldn't help it. He was a dog, after all.

I gingerly sit down next to him. He scoots closer until his hip touches mine. I scoot away from him, but he scoots even closer. I look up, and I can’t keep from grinning at him. “You’re in my space,” I warn. “I like being in your space. I kind of want to be all up in your space

Many years ago there were no lions in Northwood. There were no black lions, nor golden-brown ones (which is the more usual color). There were no pink lions, green lions, or purple polka-dotted lions. No lions at all. But now there are lions. Nobody knows how many, but they are there, all right.

For Nature, if she once endows man or woman with romance, gives them so rich a store of it as shall last them, life through, unto the end. In sickness or health, in poverty or riches, through middle age and old age, through loss of hair and loss of teeth, under wrinkled face and gouty limbs, under crow’s-feet and double chins, under all the least romantic and most sordid malaisances of life, romance endures to the end. Its price is altogether above rubies; it can never be taken away from those that have it, and those that have it not, can never acquire it for money, nor by the most utter toil—no, nor ever arrive at the very faintest comprehension of it.

Cecilia gasped. Perhaps the forest sensed she was coming. Or maybe it was just a trick of the breeze. But at that moment, two edges of the mist curled up and a gap opened in the middle. And if you looked at it a certain way and used just a little bit of imagination, you could almost say that the mist was smiling a dark and unpleasant smile.

It is sad when man’s unhappiness veils from him the smiling face of nature. The promise of the early morning was maintained. The sky was of a translucent blue, broken with islands and continents of clouds, dazzling white like cotton-wool. A soft, warm breeze blew from the west, the birds sang merrily in every garden bush, and Cullerne was a town of gardens, where men could sit each under his own vine and fig-tree. The bees issued forth from their hives, and hummed with cheery droning chorus in the ivy-berries that covered the wall-tops with deep purple. The old vanes on the corner pinnacles of Saint Sepulchre’s tower shone as if they had been regilt. Great flocks of plovers flew wheeling over Cullerne marsh, and flashed with a blinking silver gleam as they changed their course suddenly. Even through the open window of the organist’s room fell a shaft of golden sunlight that lit up the peonies of the faded, threadbare carpet. But inside beat two poor human hearts, one unhappy and one hopeless, and saw nothing of the gold vanes, or the purple ivy-berries, or the plovers, or the sunlight, and heard nothing of the birds or the bees.

I cannot promise for another day," the lion said. 'And I cannot guarantee what other lions may do if they catch you alone in the forest. But tonight you are safe." "Thank you," Cecilia said again. "May I touch you?" "Touch me? Why?" the old lion asked. "Because I want to," Cecilia said. The lion looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Cecilia stepped forward and put her arms around the lion's neck, hugging him, feeling the coarse hair of his mane rub on her cheek and neck. 'Are you crazy?" she heard Avery say behind her.

It should be terrifying, Cecilia thought, but it's somehow beautiful. They were lost in a maze in a dark forest filled with man-eating lions, which should have been enough to have them cowering and crying on the ground. But instead Cecilia felt bold. Perhaps she had just run out of fear. She had been using so much of it in the castle, with the King and his evil guards. Maybe fear was like water in a glass, and when you used it all up and there was nothing left in the glass, then you weren't afraid anymore. Cecilia was not afraid.

How was it?” Emily asks. I don’t need to answer. They can see it on my face. I look up at Sean, and he smiles down at me. He’s everything I ever wanted. I can’t imagine my life without him. “Earth-shattering,” I admit. He squeezes me, his face glowing. I narrow my gaze and smack my lips. “But for some reason, he tastes like pickles.” “Oh my God,” Emily squeals. “So does Logan!” She shoots them a quizzical glance. Sean flushes scarlet. There’s a story there. I just don’t know what it is. But he’ll tell me. I won’t let him avoid it.

While Trip’s looking for a place to stay, I was hoping maybe you would let me stay at your apartment.” She holds her breath, waiting for my response. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask again. But this time I wrap my arms around her while I do it and spin her around. She giggles against me, and I can feel the movement of it in her belly. She doesn’t try to push me away the way she did with Trip earlier when he tried this move on her. Of course, he wasn’t the happiest man in the whole fucking world when he did it. I guess that matters. “Of course you can stay with me.” I tweak her nose. “Silly woman.” I want her with me every minute of every day. “Your brothers won’t mind?” she asks. “They’ll be ecstatic,” I say. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “They’ve missed you.” “Does your apartment smell like sweaty socks and stale pizza?” she asks. I grimace. It probably does. I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a little bit.” She cuddles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She says something against my chest, but I can’t see her lips. I tip her face up. “What?” I ask. “I love you,” she says.

It contained a sad, but too common story of the hard-heartedness of the wealthy, and the misery endured by the children of the highborn. Blood is not water, it is said, but gold with them is dearer far than the ties of nature; to keep and augment their possessions being the aim and end of their lives, the existence, and, more especially, the happiness of their children, appears to them a consideration at once trivial and impertinent, when it would compete with family views and family greatness. To this common and and iniquitous feeling these luckless beings were sacrificed; they had endured the worst, and could be injured no more; but their orphan child was a living victim, less thought of than the progeny of the meanest animal which might serve to augment their possessions. Mrs. Baker felt some complacency on reading this letter; with the common English respect for wealth and rank, she was glad to find that her humble roof had sheltered a man who was the son — she did not exactly know of whom, but of somebody, who had younger sons and elder sons, and possessed, through wealth, the power of behaving frightfully ill to a vast number of persons.

A little later Anastasia was sitting before her bedroom fire writing. It has a magic of its own—the bedroom fire. Not such a one as night by night warms hothouse bedrooms of the rich, but that which burns but once or twice a year. How the coals glow between the bars, how the red light shimmers on the black-lead bricks, how the posset steams upon the hob! Milk or tea, cocoa or coffee, poor commonplace liquids, are they not transmuted in the alembic of a bedroom fire, till they become nepenthe for a heartache or a philtre for romance? Ah, the romance of it, when youth forestalls to-morrow’s conquest, when middle life forgets that yesterday is past for ever, when even querulous old age thinks it may still have its “honour and its toil”!

I lay back with a groan and close my eyes. I am just getting comfortable when two sharp elbows land in my midsection. Hayley crawls on top of me on the couch. I think she must be part monkey. She holds a kid-sized board book in her hand. “Wead,” she says, shoving it in my face. I sit up, tucking her into my lap. I take the book from her and open it, but the words jumble. I turn it upside down. “Once upon a time,” I begin. “Dat’s not how it goes,” she complains. She’s a smart girl. “I know,” I explain. “But books are magical, and if you turn them upside down, there’s a whole new story in the pages.” “Weally?” she asks, her eyes big with wonder. No, not really. But it’s the best I can do, kid. “Really,” I affirm. She wiggles, settling more comfortably in my arms. I start to make up a story based on the upside-down pictures. She listens intently. “Once upon a time, there was a little frog. And his name was Randolf.” “Randolf,” she repeats with a giggle. “And Randolf had one big problem.” “Uh oh,” she breathes. “What kind a problem?” “Randolf wanted to be a prince. But his mommy told him that he couldn’t be a prince since he was just a frog.” I keep reading until I say, “The end.” She lays the book to the side and snuggles into me. I kiss the top of her head because it feels like the right thing to do. And she smells good. “Your story was better than the book’s story,” she says. My heart swells with pride. “Thank you.” If only it was this easy to please the adults of the world.

I know I give Matt a hard time about turning in his man card, but the true definition of manhood is doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done. It doesn’t matter if it’s fixing hair, changing the oil in the car, or washing dishes. If it needs to be done it gets done. That’s manhood. It’s instilling in our daughters that dads can and will do anything that needs to be accomplished. I want to be the be-all and end-all when it comes to my daughter. I want to be the man that every other man has to look up to. I will treat her like a princess because if I don’t, she might go out and latch onto the first man who does. So yeah, I open car doors and I take her on dates and I buy her flowers for no reason. Because I want her to know she’s worthy of all of those things. And I fix hair.

She’s just getting a tat,” she says, turning me around. “What kind of tat?” “A tiny little butterfly or something equally as cute. Maybe a Disney princess. She hadn’t decided yet.” She rolls her eyes. Friday has skulls and crossbones and turtles and all sorts of weird shit all over her body. “I want to help her pick something,” I say, trying to push past Friday. “Stop,” she says. “She wants to surprise you.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Tats mean different things to different people,” Friday says. “This means a lot to her, and she should be the one to decide what she gets.” I already know this, but I want to be involved, dammit. “You don’t trust Paul to take care of her?” Friday asks, her eyebrows crashing together. Of course I trust him. “But this is my girl,” I say. I know I sound like a baby. But there it is. She pats me on the arm. “Suck it up, buttercup,” she says.

Pete walks in front of me, and I reach out and shove his hip. He looks down at me. “Are you guys talking about my ass?” he asks. He looks down at his butt, making a big deal of it. “I mean, damn, I know it’s pretty, but still.” I place my shoe on his butt and kick him to the side. He walks over and hides behind Reagan. “Look what he did, princess,” he says. “He kicked me.” He wraps his arms around her and says, “Go kick his ass for me, will you?” He shoves her in my direction. Everyone knows that Reagan is a martial arts expert and she’s flipped me over her shoulder more than once in practice situations. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Please don’t,” I say. “I had cancer,” I remind the crowd. I still get brownie points. Reagan laughs. “You can’t pull the cancer card anymore,” she says. “Two years with a clean bill of health.” She holds up two fingers. “Remember, we had a party to celebrate?

She went back to the kitchen, for the kitchen of the Hand of God was so large that Miss Joliffe and Anastasia used part of it for their sitting-room, took the pencil out of “Northanger Abbey,” and tried to transport herself to Bath. Five minutes ago she had been in the Grand Pump Room herself, and knew exactly where Mrs Allen and Isabella Thorpe and Edward Morland were sitting; where Catherine was standing, and what John Thorpe was saying to her when Tilney walked up. But alas! Anastasia found no re-admission; the lights were put out, the Pump Room was in darkness. A sad change to have happened in five minutes; but no doubt the charmed circle had dispersed in a huff on finding that they no longer occupied the first place in Miss Anastasia Joliffe’s interest. And, indeed, she missed them the less because she had discovered that she herself possessed a wonderful talent for romance, and had already begun the first chapter of a thrilling story.

I wake the next morning to a gentle tap, tap, tap on the side of my nose. I blink my eyes open and startle when I see a face looking into mine. Hayley grins at me. “You sweepy?” she says quietly. I was until she tapped against my face like a hungry bird. I scrub the sleep from my eyes and look over at Logan. He’s lying beside me with one arm flung over his head, his mouth hanging open. I snuggle deeper into my pillow. “Where’s your daddy?” I ask. “Sweeping,” she says. She’s dragging a bunny by the ears. “I’m hungwy,” she says. I cover a yawn with my open palm. I probably have awful morning breath. “Can you go and wake your daddy?” She shakes her head. “He said to go back to sweep.” I look toward the window. The sun is just barely over the horizon. “I want a pancake,” she says. A pancake? “How about some cereal?” I ask as I throw the covers off myself and get up. I take a pair of Logan’s boxers from his drawer and put them on. “Dos are Logan’s,” she says, scowling at me. “Do you think he’ll mind if I borrow them?” I whisper at her. She shakes her head and smiles, taking my hand in her free one so she can lead me from the room. “You don’t got to whisper. Logan can’t hear,” she says. I laugh. She’s right. And what’s funny is that it took a three-year-old to remind me. I hold a finger to my lips, though, as we step out into the hallway. “But your daddy can. Shh.” She giggles and repeats my shush.

He doesn’t take his gaze from her, but it looks less lascivious and more…needy. Do you think… His hands stop moving. “What? Spit it out already,” I prompt. Never mind. “What were you about to say?” I ask, turning to face him completely. “Ask it. I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I get to hear what’s going in that head of yours,” I tease. I was just wondering… He looks toward Reagan again. Do you think there will ever be a girl that looks at me like she looks at you? I glance toward the lifeguard stand. “How does she look at me?” I ask. Like she wants to jump your bones. He laughs. But I can tell this is serious to him. More serious than he wants me to know. I tap his leg with my foot to get his attention. “That’s not the question you should be asking yourself, doofus.” I’m in a chair, Mr. Mentor Man. You think it’s a good idea to call me a doofus? You might affect my self-esteem. I roll my eyes. “If you had any ego problems, I’d already know it.” Forget I asked, he says. He looks everywhere but at me. “There’s a lid for every pot, Karl. Some fit better than others, but there’s one made just for you. You should be asking yourself if she’s good enough for you. Every single time. Don’t ask yourself if you’re good enough for her because when you find the right fit, you won’t doubt it.” He grins. I think he likes that answer. And I mean it. So you think she exists? I nod. “I think she’s just waiting to find you. So don’t fuck it up by being a smart-ass.” He points to himself. Me? Never!

I want to try something with you,” she says quietly. She steps close, so close I can feel her breath against my shirt. It’s warm and moist. My heart starts to thud. “Can I touch you?” she asks. She lays a hand on my stomach. “Yes, please,” I croak. I clear my throat, and she laughs. Her other hand comes up to lie beside the first, and then one hand goes east while the other goes west, until her hands wrap around my back. She locks her hands behind me and lays her face against my shirt. She nuzzles her cheek into my left pectoral muscle. “Hug me back,” she says quietly. I wrap my arms around her, careful to squeeze her soft and slow, calmly and carefully. She exhales heavily, and I rest my chin on top of her head. In that second, I know my heart is hers. I tell myself she’s only taking a little piece, but that’s a fucking lie. She’ll have the whole thing by the time I go back to New York. She undoes me with her simple affection. And I don’t know how to behave, so I just hold her. I hold her and let her breathe while I drink in the feel of her. I want to tip her face up and press my lips to hers, but I’m not sure that would be any more fulfilling than this pregnant silence is. It’s full of possibility. For me, it’s full of longing, and something entirely different for her, probably. I open my eyes and look up. Her mother is standing there with her mouth hanging open. She slams it shut and smiles at me, giving me a thumbs-up. I grin. I can’t help it. I lay my hand on the back of Reagan’s head and stroke down the length of her hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you,” I say quietly. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be touched,” she says. I can feel the words against my chest, ripe with longing.