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.

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.

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

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

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 am overflowing with words I do not have.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Normal is just a setting on the dryer, Star.

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

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

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

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.

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.

I love you completely, princess

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.

I like people who don’t see the chair. So I’d be okay with that.” “I think it’s okay to see our differences. And even appreciate them. But not to judge people based on them.

Speak not of wealth; 'tis not wealth makes men

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.

I hug her to me, never wanting to let her go. She’s a part of us now. All of us. And she’s mine.

I think I’m in like,” I admit softly.

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.

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.

I push the thoughts of her to the side, because she belongs behind a door labeled Happiness, and that door has been firmly locked to me my whole life. I’ve never been given the key, and I doubt I ever will.

Hayley, what are you doing?” He scratches his stomach. His hair is a mess, sticking out all over the place. She pats my cheek. “I wearning signing with Logan’s girl,” she says. I like that. I like it a lot.

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.

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?

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’m so used to having her at my side already, I’m not sure I’ll survive it at this point if she leaves me. I’m hopeful that she’ll be ready for what I want soon. Because I want all of her. I want her past, her present, and her future. I want to ask her to marry me, but I can’t. Not yet.

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.

But even more than I want to lick you all over and make you cry out my name and swear you see God, I want you to trust me. And you don’t. Not yet. But you might one day.” I’m breathing so hard I feel like I just ran a mile. “I trust you,” I say. He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.” He smiles at me, and my heart flips over. “But you might one day.

You stole the covers,” she says. She has morning breath, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so bad in my life. “Why are you in my arms?” I ask. She looks around like she’s not quite sure, and she bites her lower lip between her teeth again. I pull it out very gently with my thumb, and she licks her lips, just like she did last night. “I was cold. And you were warm.

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.

What happened?” Logan asks. He’s signing while he speaks. “I had a date to snuggle with your girl on the couch, and we were going to watch a movie,” Matt says. “Next thing I know, she has my head in her lap, instead.” He looks over at me, an impish twinkle in his eye. “If you wanted to hold me, Kit, you could have just asked.” He chuckles. “You remember?” I ask. He grins this unrepentant grin. “I’ll never, ever forget the day you threw Logan over to hold me in your arms.

Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know. He shakes his head. “Tell me,” I prompt. “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 each locked in our own little worlds and could let each other out.

He turns around, and I see the words tattooed across his hip: My name is Emily. It’s in my handwriting, as if he took the note and photocopied it over his skin. It’s from when I first told him my name. I’d written it down for him as a surprise. “You put my note on your ass.” “I wanted to remember it forever,” he says. He looks deep into my eyes, and tears sting the backs of my lashes. “You did this after I left.” I don’t need to pose it as a question. I already know the answer. He nods. “Loved you then. Love you now.

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.

Come on, I want to take you around to the back, to see St. Anthony's Garden," he said. Delicate bell clangs marked the half hour, and a mockingbird called through the still air as the group entered the garden. The green space was dominated by the tall white statue of a man with arms raised in welcome. "St. Anthony is known as the protector of childless women and finder of lost things," explained Falkner. "This area has had many functions over the years. It was a place for gatherings, markets, meals---even a dueling ground. Père Antoine, one of the cathedral's popular pastors, used the space as a kitchen garden to feed his monks. He also worked with voodoo priestess Marie Laveau to assist the large slave population, especially women and children." "A Roman Catholic priest collaborating with a voodoo priestess?" asked one of the tourists, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Falkner nodded. "They had more in common than you may think. They both had a desire to heal, sooth, and do good works. They were both very spiritual people. Marie Laveau blended voodoo with Catholicism, especially regarding the saints.

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.

He reaches over and turns off the light. He rolls me into him, and the sparse dusting of hair on his chest tickles my cheek. “I think I might love you, Logan,” I say to the darkness. His head lifts. I can see it in the sliver of light that’s falling from the open curtain. “Did you say something?” he asks. I shake my head, letting my nose brush his chest so he can feel my answer. “You sure?” he asks. I nod, my nose moving up and down. He kisses the top of my head and hitches my leg up over his hip. I wrap an arm around him and snuggle in deeply. “Go to sleep,” he says softly.

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 wake up to the feel of being hoisted in the air. I reach for Logan’s neck, and he chuckles. “I got you,” he says to assure me. “Don’t drop her,” Matt warns. “I let you snuggle with her all through the movie,” Logan complains. But I can tell he’s not angry. “But she’s my girlfriend. And I’m not going to drop my girlfriend.” He nods toward Matt’s room. “You going to bed?” Logan asks. Matt stretches and groans. “In a minute.” He stretches his leg out in front of him and wiggles his feet. “My fucking leg’s asleep.” “That’s what you get for stealing my girl,” Logan scolds. Matt laughs. “It was fucking worth it.” He calls to me, “Love you, kid!” “Love you, too,” I say back. Matt’s voice is playful, but he means it. He does love me. I’ve become the honorary sister he never wanted.

Shit,” Paul says. “She paid for Matt’s treatment.” “What?” I’m still dumbfounded. “She went back home for you,” he explains. He still has Matt on the phone, and he’s talking to both of us at the same time. She did it all for me. “She did it for me,” I say out loud. “You lucky fucker,” Paul says, punching me in the arm. “She’ll be back for the spring session at Juilliard.” Warm happiness settles around me like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. Paul nods. “Matt will be home by then.” We all hope Matt will be home by then. Matt has a chance to come home, and it’s all because of Emily. I jump up, and Paul pulls me into a hug. “She’ll be back?” I ask. I can’t wrap my head around it all. “She’s not gone for good?” “She just told the whole fucking world how much she loves you, you jackass.” Paul punches me in the shoulder again. She’s coming back. To Juilliard. To me.

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?

Westray sat down near the door, and was so engrossed in the study of the building and in the strange play of the shafts of sunlight across the massive stonework, that half an hour passed before he rose to walk up the church. A solid stone screen separates the choir from the nave, making, as it were, two churches out of one; but as Westray opened the doors between them, he heard four voices calling to him, and, looking up, saw above his head the four tower arches. "The arch never sleeps," cried one. "They have bound on us a burden too heavy to be borne," answered another. "We never sleep," said the third; and the fourth returned to the old refrain, "The arch never sleeps, never sleeps." As he considered them in the daylight, he wondered still more at their breadth and slenderness, and was still more surprised that his Chief had made so light of the settlement and of the ominous crack in the south wall.

Anything exciting with your music, dear?” her mom asks. At least she tries to look like she cares. “There’s a big show coming up at the end of the week. I have to prepare an original piece to perform.” Her brow furrows, and I can tell she’s unsure about it. “Sounds exciting,” her mom says with a smile. She tugs on her husband’s sleeve. “Doesn’t it, darling?” He shrugs her hand off his arm. “Sounds like a waste of time.” “Emily’s a talented musician,” I break in. I won’t let them put down her art. “You’ve never even heard her play.” “And you have?” he shoots back. “I might not be able to hear, but I can see the passion in her eyes and feel the joy in her heart when she’s playing, Mr. Madison.” I take a deep breath. “The crowd loves her. And she loves music. So, I love to watch her play.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be at your show, no matter what.” She smiles up at me and lays her head on my arm. “So will we,” her mother declares. I’m not going to hold my breath.

I feel his gentle hands as he tilts my head to face him. “Look at me,” he insists. His voice is hesitant. “I need for you tell me everything is going to be all right.” I don’t know what he means. I’m back, aren’t I? I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.” He searches my face. “You promise?” His eyebrows draw together tightly. “You’re certain?” I push his shoulder so that he has to sit up a little. “Certain about what?” I ask. He withdraws from me, and I’m left wet and well worked. My arms and legs are limp, and I can barely think. “Are you asking me if I’m going to leave again?” He nods. “And other things.” “What other things?” He stands up, and… Goodness, he’s beautiful naked. He’s beautiful with clothes on, too, but naked…my goodness. He’s a work of art. “I want you to fucking marry me, Em,” he says. My heart trips a beat. “Well, that’s the worst proposal ever,” I joke. “Tell me this is real,” he implores me. I take his hand and look into his blue eyes. “It’s as real as it gets,” I say. He pulls me to my feet. “Good.

Do you always wake up so sweet?” I ask. She’s like cotton candy in my arms. She smells soft and clean, and she’s not shoving me away. “I’m not awake yet,” she says. She spins over in my arms, facing away from me. My forearm is under her head and her bottom is tucked against my groin. Her head is beneath my chin, and I can’t see her face anymore. But I doubt she’s talking. She’s soft in my arms, and her breath rushes out of her open mouth with every exhale, searing my forearm with every breath. The bottoms of her feet are cold against the tops of mine, so I pull the blanket over us both, tucking it around her and throwing it over our feet. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I need to get up. I need to go back to the couch. I close my eyes and brush her hair down between us. She lets me wrap around her, and I’m willing to pretend she’s still asleep. Will it hurt to stay there? I keep holding her. I’ve never had a girl sleep the whole night in my bed before. Ever. I’ve never woken up with someone. I’ve never wanted to. Until now. I settle my arm around her waist. I’ll just stay a few more minutes.

He takes my hand and pulls me out onto the floor. He smiles down at me. “I can’t feel the beat to this kind of music.” He looks around at the other couples. I see my dad step onto the floor with the model who approached Logan, and I roll my eyes. Logan takes me in his arms, his hand holding mine. He pulls me close to him, just a breath away, not touching, and my heart starts to flutter. Will I ever get used to being with this man who makes me feel so perfect? He picks up the rhythm of the music by watching the other dancers. “You’re pretty good at this,” I say. He just smiles and shrugs. “Mom made us all take dance lessons when we were young. Paul did a year of ballet before he grew enough balls to tell her he wouldn’t do it anymore.” He chuckles. I’ll never enjoy a sound more than that of his laughter. When we first met, he didn’t speak at all. He started talking again for me, and it took him even longer to learn to laugh. Sometimes he can’t tell how loud he is, and he doesn’t alter his voice well enough for the situation. This is one of those times. My dad shoots me a glare. I look up at Logan and just smile. “What’s bothering you?” he asks. “Not a thing,” I say. And it’s not. I’d trade my right arm for his voice, if someone told me I had to choose between the two. Hearing his words, his laughter and his thoughts means the world to me.

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.

It’s just a kiss,” she says softly. “Why are you all torn up about a kiss?” She’s studying me way too closely. “I’m not torn up,” I protest. “You’ve been moping ever since I told you about the fundraiser, Sean,” she says. “What’s your problem? It’s for charity, for God’s sake.” She lays her free hand on her chest. “My kiss is going to feed victims of domestic violence. I’m doing my part for a better community.” I look down at her mouth. God, I could just slide my fingers into her hair, pull her to me, and kiss her right here and now. But I won’t. Because she doesn’t want me. “I can’t believe you’re going kiss some stranger,” I bite out. “Don’t do it.” “I’ve kissed men before, Sean,” she reminds me. I wish she would keep that shit to herself. “What if it’s some big, goofy guy with really bad breath?” I ask. “What if it’s some big, brawny guy who smells like you and kisses like a god?” she asks. She smiles, the corners of her lips tilting up so prettily. Her fingertips touch my forearm lightly, and she traces the tattoos that decorate my arm from wrist to shoulder. Every hair on my body stands up, and I lift my hand from her knee and thread my fingers with hers so she’ll stop. “If I’m lucky, he’ll be all tatted up, too.” She looks off into the distance, her gaze no longer on me. “Honey, if you want to kiss someone who looks like me and smells like me, I think I can accommodate you so you don’t have to kiss some stranger.” Her eyes shift back to meet mine, and she may as well have just punched me in the gut. She looks into my eyes and stares as if she’s looking into my soul. She can look into it anytime. Shit, I’d give it to her, if she wanted it. But it’s not me she wants. She’s made that abundantly clear. “If I ever kissed you, I would never be able to stop,” I say quietly. My voice sounds like it’s been dragged down a gravel road and back, and I fucking hate that she can affect me this way. “Prove it,” she says, and then she licks her cherry-red lips. She doesn’t break eye contact. I move quickly. This is the first time she’s ever made an offer like this, and my gut tells me that she’s going to take it back. I cup her neck with my palm and pull her toward me. My gentle tug brings her flush against my chest, and the weight of her settles against me and feels so right. Her lips are so close to mine that her inhale is my exhale. My hand quivers as it holds her nape, so I work my fingers into the hair at the back of her head. I hold her still and look into her green eyes. “Tell me you want me to kiss you and you got me, honey,” I whisper. She shivers and inches up my chest ever so slightly, her mouth moving closer to mine. So close. Just a little closer. I can almost taste her. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispers. “Please.” Suddenly, the door opens, and Lacey jumps up, separating us in one final, powerful leap. Fuck. I pull the pillow from behind my head and shove it in my lap, sitting up on the side of the bed. Friday,