Mm Hmm Quotes

Lenah?" "Yeah?" I replied. "Will you go to winter prom with me?" "Of course," I whispered, sure I would fall asleep in moments. "Justin?" "Mm-Hmm?" he said, moments from sleep himself. "What's a prom?

You can’t have him, okay,” she said from behind the wire barrier. “Mm-hmm,” I whispered. “This is certainly a beautiful neighborhood.” “Yeah, I guess.” “I will scratch those eyes out of your ugly head.

Joscelin, is love supposed to make you feel like you’re sick and dying, and mad enough to hit someone and drunk with joy, and your heart’s a boulder n your chest trying to burst into a thousand pieces all at once?” “Mm-hmm.” He finished his ale. “That would be love.

He tightened his arms, not wanting Ty to move away. “It’s more than just fucking around now,” he said. “Isn’t it?” He made sure the tone of his voice emphasized that it wasn’t really a question. Ty was motionless in response. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. The silence stretched on, edging toward tension. Finally, he let out his breath quietly and lowered his head. “No,” he lied blithely, just as he’d done in a hotel in New York City over a year ago. Zane chuckled. A classic Grady response, and definitely the one he preferred to hear. A “yes” just might have given him a heart attack. He held Ty close. “You owe me.” “Owe you?” Ty repeated in a rough, questioning voice as Zane felt his heartbeat begin to speed up. “Mm hmm. How I’ve wanted you,” Zane breathed. “It scares the hell out of me.” “I know,” Ty murmured as he turned in place and nuzzled against Zane’s neck.

Did I use enough lube last night?” I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes with blushing cheeks. “Don’t…don’t call it that.” “What? Lube?” he asked. I nodded and covered my mouth with my hand. He chuckled and smirked. “All right, did I use enough stuff last night?” “Mm-hmm.

It wasn’t me,” Ant said. “I didn’t break into that safe and I didn’t destroy that will.” “Mm-hmm,” Cara added. “Sounds exactly like what a murderer would say.

There, there, sweetin’,” he murmured into her hair. “He loved me, he truly did,” she gasped. “I know he did,” Michael said. “And I loved him.” “Mm-hmm.” She raised her head, glaring angrily. “You don’t even believe in love. Why are you agreeing with me?” He laughed. “Because”—he leaned down and licked at the tears on her cheeks, his lips brushing softly against her sensitive skin as he spoke, “ye’ve bewitched and bespelled me, my sweet Silence, didn’t ye know? I’ll agree that the sky is pink, that the moon is made o’ marzipan and sugared raisins, and that mermaids swim the muddy waters o’ the Thames, if ye’ll only stop weepin’. Me chest breaks apart and gapes wide open when I see tears in yer pretty eyes. Me lungs, me liver, and me heart cannot stand to be thus exposed.” She stopped breathing. She simply inhaled and stopped, looking at him in wonder. His lips were quirked in a mocking smile, but his eyes—his fathomless black eyes—seemed to hold a great pain as if his strong chest really had been split open.

Mm-hmm. You know, lip dye isn't a crime in this state. You ought to try it." "I've been kind of busy." "You're always kind of busy. You're not using the eye gel I gave you. You can't find a minute twice a day for eye gel? You want bags and wrinkles? You got the finest piece of man-candy on and off planet, and you want him looking at your face with bags and wrinkles? What are you going to do when he dumps you for a woman who takes time to maintain her face?" "Kill him.

The kid's driving me bat-shit," Cam complained as he stalked into the kitchen. "You can't say boo to him without him squaring up for a fight." "Mm-hmm." "Argumentative, smart-mouthed, troublemaker." "Must be like looking in a mirror." "Like hell." "Don't know what I was thinking of. You're such a peaceable soul.

So these Daleks conquer entire planets, right?" "Mm-hmm." He nodded against my chest. "But they can't even go up steps.

Alice?” She spun toward the door, her skirts whirling softly. “Yes?” she forced out. “Do you know what I am holding in my hand?” “No.” “Care to guess?” “A pitchfork?” she asked in a stilted attempt at levity, hoping to invoke his earlier, playful mood. “No, my dear,” he answered drily. “A key to your room.” “What?”she breathed, aghast. “I should hate to have to use it.” “You have a key to this room?” “Mm-hmm.” She took a step toward the door, panic rising up in her throat. “You’re bluffing!” “Do you wish me to prove it?

Hmm, do you mind if I put out your fire then?” I brushed his earlobe with my upper lip.

Leaning back, I eye him. “Did you just give me a forehead kiss while I’m wearing my chef’s coat?”  “Mm-hmm.” “I’ve made grown men cry while wearing this coat.” “Oh, I have no doubt about that, but girl bosses need forehead kisses too.

I'm sorry!" I blurted out. "I told you, I suck at this. It's like any time I try to do a spell, it goes all big and scary and explodey,and-" Dad rubbed his forehead. "No,Sophie, it's all right. That's what I'd hoped you would do." "You hoped I'd commit mirrorcide?" He laughed, but it sounded a little breathless. "No,I'd hoped to see just how powerful you really are." His eyes were bright, and there was something that might have been pride in them. "You exceeded my expectations." "Well,yay," I said. "So glad my skill at blowing crap up impresses you, Dad." "Your sarcasm is-" "I know,I know, 'an unattractive quality in a young lady.'" But Dad grinned and suddenly looked much younger and less like a guy who ironed his ties. "Actually, I was going to say it's something you must've gotten from me. Grace always hated sarcastic comments." "Oh,I know," I replied without thinking. "I spent most of the seventh grade grounded because of it." He snorted. "She once put me out by the side of the road in Scotland because I made a completely harmless joke about her map-reaking skills." "Really?" "Mm-hmm.Had to walk nearly five bloody kilometers before she stopped to let me back in." "Dude.Mom is hard-core." For a moment we smiled at each other. Then Dad cleared his throat and looked away. "Anyway,your powers are definitely impressive, but what you lack is control." "Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.

Mm…hmm. I bet he’s helping you. Right into his bed and you’d be a fool not to test him out. Shit. From what you’ve told me, any woman would love to be in that man’s bed. I bet he’s got a nice cock and is a sweet lover too

Joscelin, is love supposed to make you feel like you’re sick and dying, and mad enough to hit someone, and drunk with joy, and your heart’s a boulder in your chest trying to burst into a thousand pieces, all at once?” “Mm-hmm.” He finished his ale. “That would be love.

Joker: Question. Would you die for me? Harley Quinn: Yes. Joker: That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? Harley Quinn: Yes. Joker: Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? Harley Quinn: I do. Joker: Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... Harley Quinn: Please?! Joker: Mm, God, you're so... good!

And if I said "because I'm a witch," they'd think I was crazy.' 'That's exactly right,' she confirmed. 'Because everybody knows witches aren't real.' She nodded. 'Yes.' 'Except they really are real.' She continued nodding. 'Mm-hmm.' 'But you also told me Santa and the tooth fairy were real.' 'Those were lies,' she said. 'But they're lies every parent tells their children. So they're not really lies so much as a script.' 'I slept with teeth under my pillow, so it seems like a lie to me.

Are we witnessing a mating?” “Mm-hmm.” Brilliant. This is awkward. Could be worse. How so? They could be having sex.

Mm-hmm. Sorry. Don’t need sorry. Not in this house. Sorry laid the hearth here. Sorry ways and sorry people and heavensent grief and heartache to make you pine for your death.

We’re approaching something that resembles conversation, which was not my intention. At all. Apologies for following up my acknowledging ‘mm-hmm’ with something that inadvertently opened that door when what I meant to say was ‘fuck off.

My mum always taught that the truth will set you free.” “Did she now?” “Mm hmm,” Lachlan brushed the pad of his pointer finger over her cheek’s silken skin. “But she kept one truth hidden from me until very recently.” “What was that?” He gulped. “You know the truth thing on the medallion? “Aye.” “Well, if that’s my rallying cry, then it will mean the world to me if you trust that I’m not lying.” She let the disk drop back to his chest. “Ye can tell me anything, I’d reckon.” He needed to tell her the truth. “My father is – was William Wallace.

Silence lingers between us, but not in an awkward way. In a peaceful way. As if we’re both right where we belong, and there are no words needed to fill the void or break the quiet. It’s content.  “Stevie?” Zanders whispers into the silence.  “Mm-hmm?” “You are. You know that, right? You’re what I needed most in life.” There’s a slight flutter in my chest, and it’s not that he doesn’t say these things often, but sometimes the words hit differently.

I forced down the lump in my throat as I stared at her. “Can I come?” I whispered. “There’s nothing you love at sea, landlubber,” she teased with her eyes still closed. “No birds.” I turned away. There are some birds. I didn’t ever really want to go anywhere or see the world. I liked being home, anywhere I didn’t have to face people or meet new people. But if she was going… “Can I come?” I asked again. She nodded, yawning. “Mm-hmm. But I’m captain.

Silence lingers between us, but not in an awkward way. In a peaceful way. As if we’re both right where we belong, and there are no words needed to fill the void or break the quiet. It’s content.  “Stevie?” Zanders whispers into the silence.  “Mm-hmm?” “You are. You know that, right? You’re what I needed most in life.” There’s a slight flutter in my chest, and it’s not that he doesn’t say these things often, but sometimes the words hit differently. And when the man who has everything in life, who has every option the world has to offer at his fingertips, tells you you’re what he needed most, well, it’s hard not to let those words affect you.

Hey, Large,” Gabe says, flicking me with his towel. “Where you been all day?” “I’ve been around.” I look over at Peter, but he won’t meet my eyes. “I saw you guys on the slopes.” Darrell says, “Then why didn’t you holler at us? I wanted to show off my ollies for you.” Teasingly I say, “Well, I called Peter’s name, but I guess he didn’t hear me.” Peter finally looks me in the eyes. “Nope. I didn’t hear you.” His voice is cold and indifferent and so un-Peterlike, the smile fades from my face. Gabe and Darrell exchange looks like oooh and Gabe says to Peter, “We’re gonna head out to the hot tub,” and they trot off. Peter and I are left standing in the lobby, neither of us saying anything. I finally ask, “Are you mad at me or something?” “Why would I be mad?” And then it’s back to quiet again. I say, “You know, you’re the one who talked me into coming on this trip. The least you could do is talk to me.” “The least you could do was sit next to me on the bus!” he bursts out. My mouth hangs open. “Are you really that mad that I didn’t sit next to you on the bus?” Peter lets out an impatient breath of air. “Lara Jean, when you’re dating someone, there are just…certain things you do, okay? Like sit next to each other on a school trip. That’s pretty much expected.” “I just don’t see what the big deal is,” I say. How can he be this mad over such a tiny thing? “Forget it.” He turns like he’s going to leave, and I grab his sweatshirt sleeve. I don’t want to be in a fight with him; I just want it to be fun and light the way it always is with us. I want him to at least still be my friend. Especially now that we’re at the end. I say, “Come on, don’t be mad. I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal. I swear I’ll sit next to you on the way home, okay?” He purses his lips. “But do you get why I was pissed?” I nod back. “Mm-hmm.” “All right then, you should know that you missed out on mocha sugar donuts.” My mouth falls open. “How’d you get those? I thought the shop didn’t open that early!” “I went out and got them last night specifically for the bus ride,” Peter says. “For you and me.

They all bad. But she the worst of all.” “Ain’t they? You remember that time Miss Walter make you pay for the crystal glass you broke? Ten dollars out a your pay? Then you find out them glasses only cost three dollars apiece down at Carter’s?” “Mm-hmm.” “Oh, and you remember that crazy Mister Charlie, the one who always call you nigger to your face like he think it’s funny. And his wife, the one who make you eat lunch outside, even in the middle a January? Even when it snowed that time?” “Make me cold just thinking bout it.” “And what—” Aibileen is chuckling, trying to talk at the same time. “What about that Miss Roberta? Way she make you sit at the kitchen table while she try out her new hair

Violet felt so free. She could hear Jay laughing from behind her as he held on tight. She spun the craft first sharply to the right and then quickly to the left. He knew she was trying to buck him free, testing him to see how long he could hold on to her before being tossed into the frigid water of the lake as she maneuvered the miniature speedboat back and forth. But he was stronger now than ever before, and his reflexes were sharper. He seemed to know which way she was going to go even before she did. After a while, Violet slowed down near a floating dock in the lake and parked the Wave Runner. “Do you want to jump in?” she asked as she pulled the key from the ignition without waiting for an answer, making it more of a statement than a question. Jay stood up and hopped from the Wave Runner onto the dock. Violet joined him and instead of diving into the water, she sat down and dangled her feet in. “It’s quiet here,” he commented absently. He sat down beside her. “Mm-hmm,” she sighed, kicking her feet and splashing up water. “How are your knees?” He reached out and brushed his fingers across the damp bandages. Violet shrugged. “They’re fine . . .” and then she added with mock adoration, “. . . thanks to you, of course.” And to show her gratitude, she kicked water in his direction. He nudged her with his shoulder but didn’t say anything. They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the silence of being alone and enjoying each other’s presence. It was easy . . . and comfortable.

Slothrop is just settling down next to a girl in a prewar Worth frock and with a face like Tenniel’s Alice, same forehead, nose, hair, when from outside comes this most godawful clanking, snarling, crunching of wood, girls come running terrified out of the eucalyptus trees and into the house and right behind them what comes crashing now into the pallid lights of the garden but—why the Sherman Tank itself! headlights burning like the eyes of King Kong, treads spewing grass and pieces of flagstone as it manoeuvres around and comes to a halt. Its 75 mm cannon swivels until it’s pointing through the French windows right down into the room. “Antoine!” a young lady focusing in on the gigantic muzzle, “for heaven’s sake, not now. . . .” A hatch flies open and Tamara—Slothrop guesses: wasn’t Italo supposed to have the tank?—uh—emerges shrieking to denounce Raoul, Waxwing, Italo, Theophile, and the middleman on the opium deal. “But now,” she screams, “I have you all! One coup de foudre!” The hatch drops—oh, Jesus—there’s the sound of a 3-inch shell being loaded into its breech. Girls start to scream and make for the exits. Dopers are looking around, blinking, smiling, saying yes in a number of ways. Raoul tries to mount his horse and make his escape, but misses the saddle and slides all the way over, falling into a tub of black-market Jell-o, raspberry flavor, with whipped cream on top. “Aw, no . . .” Slothrop having about decided to make a flanking run for the tank when YYYBLAAANNNGGG! the cannon lets loose an enormous roar, flame shooting three feet into the room, shock wave driving eardrums in to middle of brain, blowing everybody against the far walls. A drape has caught fire. Slothrop, tripping over partygoers, can’t hear anything, knows his head hurts, keeps running through the smoke at the tank—leaps on, goes to undog the hatch and is nearly knocked off by Tamara popping up to holler at everybody again. After a struggle which shouldn’t be without its erotic moments, for Tamara is a swell enough looking twist with some fine moves, Slothrop manages to get her in a come-along and drag her down off of the tank. But loud noise and all, look—he doesn’t seem to have an erection. Hmm. This is a datum London never got, because nobody was looking. Turns out the projectile, a dud, has only torn holes in several walls, and demolished a large allegorical painting of Virtue and Vice in an unnatural act. Virtue had one of those dim faraway smiles. Vice was scratching his shaggy head, a little bewildered. The burning drape’s been put out with champagne. Raoul is in tears, thankful for his life, wringing Slothrop’s hands and kissing his cheeks, leaving trails of Jell-o wherever he touches. Tamara is escorted away by Raoul’s bodyguards. Slothrop has just disengaged himself and is wiping the Jell-o off of his suit when there is a heavy touch on his shoulder. “You were right. You are the man.” “That’s nothing.” Errol Flynn frisks his mustache. “I saved a dame from an octopus not so long ago, how about that?” “With one difference,” sez Blodgett Waxwing. “This really happened tonight. But that octopus didn’t.

It may not have been very big, she said, but everyone will notice that it’s missing. How could they not? One might as well overlook a bare patch of earth on the crest of a snow-covered mountain. And her eyes rolled forward as she tried to peer down her long snout at the small, dark hole above her nostril. Eragon laughed and splashed a handful of water at her. Then, to soothe her injured pride, he said, “No one will notice, Saphira. Trust me. Besides, even if they do, they’ll take it for a battle wound and consider you all the more fearsome because of it.” You think so? She returned to examining herself in the lake. The water and her scales reflected off each other in a dazzling array of rainbow-hued flecks. What if a soldier stabs me there? The blade would go right through me. Perhaps I should ask the dwarves to make a metal plate to cover the area until the scale regrows. “That would look exceedingly ridiculous.” It would? “Mm-hmm.” He nodded, on the verge of laughing again. She sniffed. There’s no need to make fun of me. How would you like it if the fur on your head started falling out, or you lost one of those silly little nubs you call teeth? I would end up having to comfort you, no doubt. “No doubt,” he agreed easily. “But then, teeth don’t grow back.” He pushed himself off the rock and made his way up the shore to where he had left his boots, stepping carefully to avoid hurting his feet on the stones and branches that littered the water’s edge. Saphira followed him, the soft earth squishing between her talons. You could cast a spell to protect just that spot, she said as he pulled on his boots. “I could. Do you want me to?” I do.

KATHLEEN: I think I’m falling for Garner Bradford. ROSE: What! Hang on a minute. Let me pass the baby to Henry so I can concentrate on this conversation. One sec. Okay. I’m in my bedroom with the door closed. You’re falling for Garner Bradford? KATHLEEN: I’ve been trying hard not to and I’ve been doing an okay job of it, but the company held one of its family barbecue picnics this afternoon. I went and he was there with his girls and it melted me. Seeing him with them. ROSE: More details, please. KATHLEEN: I was talking with one of the women from accounting when I spotted him getting into the food line with the girls. I excused myself and hurried over because it looked like he could use an extra hand. He can’t very well hold three plates at once, right? ROSE: Right. KATHLEEN: I ended up filling his daughter Willow’s plate. ROSE: Which one is Willow? KATHLEEN: The older one. She’s four. Nora, the younger one, is two. After I carried Willow’s plate to their table, Garner was sort of honor-bound to invite me to join them. So I sat down, and when I looked across the table, I saw that Garner had a burger exactly like mine. We both chose the bun with sesame seeds. We both put tomatoes and pickles and grilled onions and ketchup and mustard on ours. ROSE: Let me guess. Neither one of your burgers had lettuce. KATHLEEN: Exactly! No lettuce. ROSE: It sounds like fate. KATHLEEN: That’s what I thought. It felt more and more like fate the longer I sat there. Willow is serious and quiet. Nora is sweet and busy. They’re gorgeous little girls, Rose. ROSE: I’m sure they are. KATHLEEN: And Garner was wonderful with them. He used a wet wipe to clean their hands. He cut their hot dogs into tiny pieces. He brought their sippy cups out of his bag. He redid Willow’s ponytail when it started to sag. The girls look at him like he hung the moon. ROSE: And by the time you finished your lettuce-free hamburger, you were looking at him like he hung the moon, too. KATHLEEN: Yes. ROSE: Mm-hmm. KATHLEEN:

You seek a great fortune, ye who are now in chains. You will find a fortune, though it will not be the one you seek. But first...first you must travel a long and difficult road, a road fraught with peril. Mm-hmm. You shall see thangs, wonderful to tell. You shall see a...a cow...on the roof of a cotton house, ha. And, oh, so many startlements. I cannot tell you how long this road shall be, but fear not the obstackles in your path, for fate has vouchsafed your reward. Though the road may wind, yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye follow them, even unto your salvation. As spoken by the Blind Seer in the Coen Brothers Movie, O Brother Where Art Thou?

Daleric rushed in and braced Arram's free side. "Arram, what's this?" He asked with concern. "You were fine when we left. " "Apparently Kottrun and his pack took Arram and the wounded as hostages," the captain explained. "They must have run mad to think Master Ramasu could walk them out of here. Our mages put sleep on them, but before it took, the boy made a fountain that smacked Kottrun silly and then dropped him." "Kottrun hit me in the head, too," Arram said cheerfully. His knees turned to water, and he sagged in the mages' grips. "But I'm fine. " Daleric raised his eyebrows. "No wonder you're wrung out, then," he told Arram. "Three days of serious healing, a clout on the head, and whatever you just did on top of it. Don't tell me you're fine." "I am," Arram protested. "Mm-hmm," Daleric said dubiously.

The burglar took two quick, long strides to Edith’s side of the bed and reached for a collar. “What’s he doing?!” a wide-eyed Edith asked Stick Cat in an angry whisper. She breathed fast, her shoulders were hunched a bit, and the fur on her back was up. “He’s stealing, Edith.” “My collars?! My daily collars?! My beautiful, colorful collars?!” “Yes.” “He’s stealing from me?!” “Yes.” “A cat?!” “That’s right.” “But I’m a good kitty.” “I know you are.” “I’m a great kitty!” “I know.” “I’m a fabulous, beautiful, and totally modest kitty!” “Mm-hmm.” “And Tuna Todd is stealing from me?” “I’m afraid so.” It took several seconds for Edith to consider and digest this information. As she did, the man began to pick her collars off the pegs one by one. He reached for the first one—Monday’s collar—with his greedy, grabby left hand. “Stick Cat,” Edith said, and looked him right in the eyes. “Yes?” “I don’t like Tuna Todd anymore.” Stick Cat used all his effort to suppress a smile. He knew this was a scary situation, but at this exact moment he was amused that it took something being stolen from Edith herself for her to finally understand the situation. “I’m sorry about your collars,” Stick Cat said. “And I’m sorry Tuna Todd didn’t turn out to be as nice as you thought.” “We should have figured it out earlier,” hissed Edith. “Umm,” Stick Cat said, and stopped. It seemed like he was contemplating the right words to use. “You’re right. If only I had been clever enough to figure out what he was doing.” “Don’t blame yourself, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “Thankfully, you have me here to help.

yesterday. I know it wasn’t your fault, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face you.” “Shhh, it’s fine,” I said soothingly. “Neither of us was in any shape to talk. You did the most important things.” After a brief pause, I added, “You spoke to her?” “Mm hmm,” said Irene, the pitch of her reply rising as she tried to keep from crying. Neither of us could go on, so we sat silently for a short time, and then we stood up and brushed ourselves off. Words could come later, when they weren’t so damned hard to say. The sun was up, and I could hear the sounds of people moving around outside. Another day of hard labor was already in progress. I hadn’t lowered the shield the night before because there hadn’t been much point with everyone asleep. Plus, I had felt safer sleeping with it active. I remedied that now, testing the new links between the repaired pedestal

- Question. Would you die for me? - Yes. - That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? - Yes. - Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? - I do. - Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... - Please?! - Mm, God, you're so... good! ― Joker & Harley Quinn

- Question. Would you die for me? - Yes. - That's too easy. Will you... Would you live for me? ... Hmm? - Yes. - Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! ... Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. You want this? - I do. - Say it. Say it. Say it! Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... - Please?! - Mm, God, you're so... good! ―― Joker & Harley Quinn

He didn’t call on Monday. “Pay up,” she said. “He’ll call,” Mike said. “He took a pinky pledge.” Mike made a good point, but how long could even a sacred vow sealed by the tiniest and most loyal of digits forestall the inevitable? They decided to give it a month. Tuesday morning the phone rang. “Hello,” said an increasingly familiar British voice. “Oh, hello,” Becky said, and thought both “darn” and “hooray!” at the same time. She hated to lose a bet. “Yes, hello,” said Felix. Becky cleared her throat. “Did you go skiing?” “Yes, you know, we did.” “Have a good time?” “Mm hmm.” “Good. Sounds . . . fun.” “So, what do we do now, swap stories about our exes? Watch a reality show on the telly and narrate to each other in scandalized voices? ‘Can you believe she said that? I can’t believe she just said that.’ ” “You don’t have many friends, do you?” “I have thousands of fans, dozens of itinerant co-workers, a handful of acolytes, three stalkers, and a wife.” “You have no idea how this friend business works, do you?” she asked. “Ha!” Felix said. “Ooh, that was a nice ‘ha.’ Full of derisive laughter and effectively evading any answer.” “Thank you. I’ve been practicing.” “Yeah. So, um, you have no idea how this works, do you?” “I know there’s talking involved, don’t I? And phone calling. I’m not such an amateur as all that.” “Felix, are you really sure you want to be friends?” “What do you mean, am I sure? I took a pinky pledge.

Whew! You look like butter!" Feyi laughed as she swiped toner over her skin and patted in a serum. "I look like butter? That's the line you're going with?" "Mm-hmm. All that gold and yellow." He leaned toward her, his voice drawling into a singsong. "You look like ghee and honey, baby, you look like money.

Mm-hmm.” I place my hand on her headrest and reverse down the Muñozes’ driveway.

You’re an asshole.” She turns her head. I dip my mouth by her ear. “You like it.” “You’re sick.” “Yep.” “Violent.” “Mm-hmm. And you’re the dirty fucking girl who loves that about me.

Just looking out for my new partner.” “Is that so?” “Mm-hmm,” I hum distractedly, biting the inside of my cheek as I examine my handiwork. “Well in that case…” Kai stands to his feet, steps close, and hits me lightly across the face. I let out a humorless laugh, touching my fingers to my cheek. Then my gaze locks with his amused one. He shrugs casually. “Mosquito.

Jeff: I could go to New York if I wanted to, but what's the point? So I can learn how to order a capuccino? So I can get mugged by some crackhead? So I can see homeless people up close and personal? Sooze: So what do you want to do? Jeff: Nothing. Sooze: No one does nothing, Jeff! Jeff: Okay, well, then I'm going to break new ground. Sooze: New ground?! Jeff: Mm-hmm. Sooze: Taking one community college course on the history of Nicaragua while barely holding a job packing boxes?

Harper?” Cash murmured after a long moment. “Hmm?” I turned my head. “Do you believe in Santa?” I shifted onto my side to look at him, smiling. “Yeah, I do.” He adjusted his head to look at me. “Even though he’s something our parents say isn’t real?” I nodded. “Yeah, definitely. There’s usually some kind of truth behind stories.” He looked up to the tree then to me. “Think we can see him tonight?” I laughed and sat up. “Who? Santa? Why not? It couldn’t hurt to try.

That’s the song for the herbs?” “Mm-hmm.” “It makes them happy?” “It makes them work,” the woman says. “Prayer puts the world to work. The action you take is your expression of intent. The world listens. And then works. Go

We’re already asleep,” I said flatly. “Mm-hmm. Your short-term memories are muddled. It happens.” I pointed at the bed. “But I missed the good part!” “I think,” she said, touching my shoulder as she rose from her chair, “an encore can be arranged.

Do you--should you radio…anyone?” he said, gasping slightly when she nipped at one nipple through his shirt. “Mm--hmm,” she murmured, leaving a trail along the side of his chin with her tongue. He turned her around inside the blanket so her back was to him, then tugged her up against him, sliding his arms around her waist and keeping the blanket around them, the opening now in front of her. He leaned down and gently bit the side of her neck, then whispered, “Well, you might want to take care of that right swift, luv, because you’re about to be ravaged.” She moaned when he nipped her, wriggling a little, giving a delightful giggle at the last part, which made him grin. Kerry wasn’t typically a giggler. He now had a vested interest in seeing her become one. She’d clearly let go of all the worry, the tension, the fears about what might happen, and was doing exactly what he was doing: grabbing on to what they had right now and leaving the future to settle itself. “Ravaged, am I?” she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. “Are we playing pirate on the high seas, then?” “Aye, my saucy seafaring wench, ’tis true. I’ve boarded yer lovely vessel to see what treasures you have worth pillaging.” He leaned down, nipped her earlobe, then tugged the blanket so it snugged tightly over her breasts as he tucked her backside against his hips. “It appears I’ll need to board yer personal vessel to discover all your riches.” She laughed at that outright, then wiggled against him quite deliberately, making him grit his teeth. “Careful now, wench, or you’ll be spilling my doubloons all over the deck.” She let out a choked laugh at that, then bumped him back with her hips, and it was his turn to groan as her firm derrière came into contact with an even firmer part of him. “Why don’t you and your doubloons go on belowdeck so I can catch my breath long enough to send out an all’s-okay to Thomas without him thinking I’m doing what I’m about to be doing? It was mortifying enough to have to brazen it out in front of him when I showed up in this--what was it you called it? A glorified napkin? I’ve always thought of him as kind of a secondary grandfather. I’m not sure which of us was more in danger of that heart attack.” She glanced over her shoulder with a dry smile. “I think my femme fatale days are over.” “Oh,” he said, tossing the blanket toward a side bin so he could run his flat palms down the center of her back, then frame the swell of her hips, which were tightly wrapped in that glorified napkin. “I don’t know about that,” he said in all sincerity. “At least the fatale part.

Nick bumps my shoulder with his, playfully. He kicks up some extra snow on purpose, whishing it onto my knees. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him. “Really?” “Especially with that doggy breath.” He scoops up some snow, makes it into a ball, bounces his hand up and down. “Take that back.” I giggle. “Nope.” I bend down to grab some snow and topple headfirst. The cold of it bites into my cheeks. I try to push myself up, but I can’t. I’m all awkward and clumsy with the snowshoes on. Nick laughs. I struggle some more. He grabs me under my arms and hauls me up. Smiling, he sticks out his tongue, and with tiny little movements starts licking the snow off my cheeks. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s all warm, and good feeling, and amazing. I close my eyes and let him. “You smell good,” he whispers. “I haven’t showered.” “Doesn’t matter, you smell good.” His voice, sensual and warm, mellows me. Our lips touch and part, touch again. I breathe him in. He moves his face away a little and studies me. I smile. I can’t help it. “I like you,” I say. “A lot. Even with the whole werewolf thing.” He smiles back. “I like you too.” “A lot?” “Mm-hmm,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “A wicked lot.

Mm-hmm, that’s what the heroine always says in the movies, and then less than two hours later she’s admitting she’s been madly in love with the boy next door all along. Who’s suddenly not so boring when he’s naked.

Mm-hmm. And now you’ve found this power. And it’s beyond anything you imagined. It should be able to right all the wrongs in the world, let alone this one inconvenience of broken flesh. And since you found it once, you should be able to find it again, shouldn’t you? When you can’t, it’s hard not to feel like the breaking is your fault.

What’s the best thing about being postmenopausal?” “Best?” “Yeah?” Maybe there was no best. “Hmm, let’s see . . . well, a woman’s mental health postmenopause is usually better than it’s been at any other time in the life of that particular woman, other than maybe childhood.” What. “Is that really true? Is it because our periods stop?” “Mm, it’s more that we aren’t cycling anymore between estrogen and progesterone and FSH. And, of course, in a patriarchy your body is technically not your own until you pass the reproductive age.” She said this offhandedly, less like feminism and more like a scientific or anthropological fact.

Jesus, you could have died, Ava.” “So you were worried about me?” she asks, a smile on her lips. “It’s my job, Ava.” “Mm-hmm, I guess. Or it’s because you like me,

You’re mine, butterfly.” “And you’re mine.” “Mm-hmm,” he hums.

What’s on your mind?” “You.” “That’s bold.” “Mm-hmm.

If God knows everything and if He’s working out His will in the world, what’s the point?” “Mm-hmm,” Clara said. “The answer to that question is simple, but not easy. We pray because God tells us to. He commands us to. So we obey. And John says whenever we ask anything according to God’s will, He hears us. So why would God ask us to do something that makes no difference? That’s really your question.” “Right. But you do believe it makes a difference.” “I do or I wouldn’t waste my time or the cartilage in my knees.

They’re forming mutual-interest groups for all kinds of things.” “Like Starfleet, and the Borg.” “Mm-hmm. And the Skippies—” “Skippies? Skippies?” I could feel my eyes bugging out, even in VR. “What, they’ve changed their avatars to beer cans and started calling people monkeys?” Bill snorted his coffee and had to take a moment to compose himself. “No,

Running my hands over the dirt, I suddenly feel an unfamiliar, electric charge buzzing through my fingertips. I jump back, hands trembling. "Are you all right?" Sebastian asks, his green eyes glancing down at me with concern. "Mm-hmm." I look away in embarrassment before returning to my task, gingerly spreading more dirt over the seeds. The buzzing shoots through my hands once again and my eyes squeeze shut in pain. And then I hear Sebastian gasp. I open my eyes as Lucia shouts, "Where did her flower come from? Is this a trick?" Bewildered, I glance in front of me---and stifle a scream. A glorious Canterbury bell stands in full bloom, where moments ago there were only seeds. Its violet petals are damp from the water I just sprinkled over the dirt, and I gape at the impossible sight in disbelief.

Mark is old enough now to admit that he hates such men and doesn’t care if it’s because he wishes he could be like them. But no. Mark worries. Mark doubts. Parenthood has made him more attuned to the world’s illogic, its betrayals. Geoff’s certainty and his lofty conversation grate. Mark murmurs an mm-hmm, trying to sound affirmative.

It is not enough that you see things from that person’s perspective or understand what they are feeling. You also have to visibly confirm to the speaker that you are listening. There are multiple ways to do this. The easiest one is to vocalize your reactions with phrases like “Wow, that’s wonderful!” or “I’m sad to hear about that,” or “That sucks. I can see why you’re frustrated!” But what if the person’s message or feelings are unclear or you don’t know how to react out of fear of being misunderstood as indifferent? You can easily confirm that you are paying attention by nodding or using filler words like “mm-hmm” or “uh-huh.” The goal here is to assure the speaker that they have your undivided attention and that you are following their narrative. This is important in situations where the person is not only telling a story but giving you instructions for performing certain things.

He’s married.” “You think he might be interested in polygamy? I’ve always been good at sharing.” “I’ll be taking this back.” Declan tries to swipe my mimosa from my hand, but I hold it tightly to my chest. “No!” “Stop lusting after Alatorre. It’s disgusting.” “Mm-hmm.” I pull out my phone and search Alatorre Formula 1. The results are promising. Very promising. “You’re Googling him, aren’t you?” I don’t need to look up to know Declan’s amused. I’m certain if I catch him in the act, his smile will disappear before I have a chance to truly acknowledge it. Santiago Alatorre’s social media accounts are just as enticing as his Google search. “You know what? I think I have a sudden interest to learn everything there is to know about Formula 1.” Declan rolls his eyes in the most un-Declan-like fashion. “Of course you do.

Mm-hmm.” My gaze latches on Bailey’s arms, squeezed tight beneath her breasts. “Petty.” “How is asking her to do her job petty?” “You know. Don’t stoop to their level, Beau. It’s unbecoming.” Leave it to the twenty-two-year-old in this fake relationship to be the mature one.

Mm-hmm. More exciting? Read less, live more. That’s the key, dear Lily,

Darcy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hips cocking, emphasizing the crescent curve of her waist. She side-eyed the bags looped over Elle’s arm, looking equal parts intrigued and distrustful. “Hello.” Elle lifted the bags. “I come bearing libations and craft supplies.” Darcy’s brows rocketed to her hairline. “Craft supplies?” Sliding past Darcy into the apartment, Elle bit back a grin. Score one for her for managing to knock Darcy off-kilter. “Mm-hmm. I figured we could hammer out the details of this arrangement and share some facts about ourselves.

Mm-hmm. Basically you go to Louisiana to eat and drink and then horror-die from the bite of a venomous creature.” “Pretty much.

But alas, I’m here, drunk off my ass, boobs practically spilling out of my shirt, and my mascara slowly melting off my eyelashes and onto my face, morphing me from new-in-town college girl, to trash panda from the raccoon clan. “Dottie, Lindsay,” I say weakly, moving my head from side to side. “Where art thou?” “You need help?” a deep voice slurs next to me. I look to my right through very blurry vision and make out what I’m going to assume is an incredibly attractive man. But then again, I’m drunk—the whole mascara melting off my eyes in full swing—and I’ve been fooled once before. But hey, I think those are blue eyes. Can’t go wrong with that . . . reasoning that will be thought better of in the morning. “Have you seen Dottie or Lindsay?” “Can’t say that I have,” he answers, resting against the wall with me. “Damn it. I think they’re making out with some baseball players. Have you seen any of those around?” “Baseball players?” “Mm-hmm.” I nod, shutting my eyes for a second but then shooting them back open when I feel myself wobble to the side. The guy catches me by the hand before I topple over, but thanks to his alcohol intake, he’s not steady enough to hold us up and . . . timber . . . we fall to the couch next to me. “Whoa, great placement of furniture,” I say, as the guy topples on top of me. “Damn near saved our lives.” I rub my face against the scratchy and worn-out fabric. “How many people do you think have had sex on this thing?” “Probably less than what you’re thinking.” The couch is deep, giving me enough room to lie on my side with the guy in front of me, so we’re both facing each other. He smells nice, like vodka and cupcakes. “So, have you seen any baseball players around? I’m looking for my friends.” “Nah, but if you see any, let me know. I can’t find my room.” “You live here?” I ask, eyes wide. “Yup,” he answers, enunciating the P. “For two years now.” “And you don’t remember where your room is?” “It has a yellow door. If the damn room would stop spinning I’d be able to find it.” “Well . . . maybe if we find your room, we’ll find my friends,” I say, my drunk mind making complete sense. “That’s a great idea.” He rolls off the couch and then stands to his feet, wobbling from side to side as he holds out his hand to me. Without even blinking, I take it in mine and let him help me to my feet. “Yellow door, let’s go,” I say, raising my crumpled cup to the air. “We’re on the move.” He keeps my hand clasped in his and we stumble together past beer pong, people making out against walls, the kitchen, to an open space full of doors. “Yellow door, do you see one?” I blink a few times and then see a flash of sunshine. “There.” I point with force. “Yellow, right there.” His head snaps to where I’m pointing. A beam of light illuminates the color of the door, making it seem like we’re about to walk right into the sun. I’m a little chilly, so I welcome the heat. “Fuck, there it is. You’re good.” 

I told you,” he said in the darkness behind my lids. “So stubborn, all the time.” “No. Sometimes I’m asleep. And anyway, you don’t know my life.” He laughed. “Yeah, actually, I do. I know all about you.” I scoffed. “Mm-hmm.” “What? I do. I know you can eat a whole sleeve of Thin Mints by yourself.” I snorted. “Who can’t?” He went on. “I know your favorite thing is having your back scratched after you take off your bra. You’re in a better mood when you go to bed at eleven thirty and wake up at seven than when you go to bed at twelve thirty and wake up at eight. You like purple. You love the smell of carnations but hate it when guys buy you flowers because you think it’s a waste of money…” I opened an eye and looked at him. He was talking to the window, watching the road. “You like to argue when you think you might be wrong. When you know you’re right, you don’t bother. You hate sharing your food, but you pick at my plate every time. That’s why I always order extra fries.” He looked over at me and smiled. “And you’d rather give me shit for my driving than admit you get carsick when you’re on your phone. See?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know you.” My heart felt like it might crack in half. He did know me. He’d been paying attention to me. And I knew him too. I knew him inside and out. I could tell what work had been like by the set of his shoulders when he came over, and I knew it helped him to de-stress to talk to me about a bad call. I always listened, even though sometimes they were hard to hear. When he got quiet, it meant he was tired. He’d choose pistachio ice cream at Baskin-Robbins every time, but at Cold Stone he got sweet cream instead. I knew he liked Stuntman, though he’d never admit it. And he secretly liked it when I gave him shit. I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes. And I also knew he hoped he had more sons than daughters. That he liked the name Oliver for his first boy and Eva for his first girl. He planned on teaching all his kids to hunt and had a collection of camo baby clothes. He wanted to build the cribs himself from wood in the forest around his grandparent’s house in South Dakota. He wanted no fewer than five children, and he planned for nine. And he hoped all his kids got the signature Copeland dimples and cowlick. I hoped for that too. I wanted him to get all the things he dreamed about. Yes. I knew him. I knew him well.

What they could tell from an imprint I could barely see was astonishing. “This one old man—short steps,” they’d say, touching the ground with a walking stick; or “This is woman carrying baby;” or “This one Swapo—man with gun walks proud. You see?” “Ah, yes, mm-hmm,” I nodded, seeing nothing I could remotely identify as a footprint.

Hoooold up,” I mumbled, and I whipped my head around as I registered the fully gilded four-post bed, the fur-trimmed, velvet robe in the corner, and three polished crowns mounted on the mantelpiece. “Is this Temin’s bedchamber?” “Mm-hmm,” Nulena giggled against my neck, and I abruptly pulled her off me. “We can’t fuck in the king’s private quarters,” I hissed. “Why not?” I furrowed my brow as she smirked up at me, and maybe it was the Rosh, but I just had no rebuttal to that. I tried my damndest, though, while I considered the plush carpet under my boots and the stained-glass windows, but the bed was twice as big as any I’d ever seen, and the dense black hide draped over the blankets practically begged to have Nulena thrown onto it. “Yeah, okay,” I decided

He’s so fucking hot,” Isla whispered under her breath. “Mm-hmm.” She turned to me. I blinked then looked at her. When I noticed her expression, I clarified. “Oh, the other one.

I caught him looking up ferry schedules yesterday.” She frowned. “Ferry schedules?” “Mm-hmm. The Edmonds-Kingston ferry.” Lana arched a brow. “You know, the one between here and Seattle.