Swift And Saddled Quotes

You're the moon and I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.

If you like who you are, why is it so hard to believe other people do too?

I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.

I followed my dreams, and they led me back to you.

At his core, Weston Ryder was gentle, and I thought that was the best thing that a man could be.

I used to be fearless. Until I met Ada Hart. Now I had something that I was terrified to lose.

You say you're not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun. I would rather have the moon anyway.

God, he was so gentle — so comforting. He talked to me the way people talk to plants when they want them to grow.

When you're treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that's how you should be treated. It left me feeling like there wasn't anything about me that someone could love.

As far as friends went, I didn’t really have any–not because I didn’t want them, but because making friends as an adult is hard. Honestly, I enjoyed solitute, but there’s a difference between that and being lonely.

Ada wasn’t just “on my mind,” she was in it — in every nook and cranny.

I would never have to wonder what it was like to be loved, because Weston Ryder would love me all the way.

The little things are the big things, Ada. They're the things all the big things are made of I might not know you all the way, but I want to, and I'm just asking you to give me a chance to do that.

But depression wasn't a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July.

I was grieving all of the parts of myself that I lost or gave up in the name of comfort because I would rather have been comfortable than happy. I chose to prioritize my false sense of security instead of me.

You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny. I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.

We traded stories and anecdotes, and I carefully added new pieces of Wes to my growing collection of things about him that I was holding close to my heart.

He was like the sun. No matter what, he would keep coming up.

The question is, Miss Finch . . . what are you doing in this village?” “I’ve been trying to explain it to you. We have a community of ladies here in Spindle Cove, and we support one another with friendship, intellectual stimulation, and healthful living.” “No, no. I can see how this might appeal to a mousy, awkward chit with no prospects for something better. But what are you doing here?” Perplexed, she turned her gloved hands palms-up. “Living happily.” “Really,” he said, giving her a skeptical look. Even his horse snorted in seeming disbelief. “A woman like you.” She bristled. Just what kind of woman did he think she was? “If you think yourself content with no man in your life, Miss Finch, that only proves one thing.” In a swift motion, he pulled himself into the saddle. His next words were spoken down at her, making her feel small and patronized. “You’ve been meeting all the wrong men.

I can see you’re confused.” He stepped closer to me. “So let me break this down for you: I fucking adore you, Ada. You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant and purposeful woman that I’ve ever met, and I would be the stupidest man alive if I let something as stupid and surmountable as distance take you away from me.

If there was one thing that Amos Ryder always did, it was believe in his kids. And Brooks, too, I guess. And we didn’t even do anything to earn his unconditional support for us. He just did it. I mean, I guess that’s how some parents were. But still.

I am a firm believer that if you pass them while you’re driving, you’re legally obligated to point at them and say “Cows!

Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

Within a few seconds, “Move Bitch Get Out da Way” was pumping through my speakers. This was going to work. If they wouldn’t listen to me, they might listen to Ludacris.

Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

I'd been awake since half past four, so I'd been waiting for her to wake up for almost an hour. At this point, I was pretty sure I'd been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

You know, I think I'm actually good. Thank you for offering, but it's not urgent. I don't want to derail your day.” ‘Derail my day? I'd drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn't need to know that.

My dad made sure all of us knew cooking basics, especially Gus and me. From the time we were little, he told us that someday we might have to share a home with someone, and when that happened, it would be important to split labor—whether that was cooking, cleaning, or whatever.

Clara Swift is asleep, her head on the cowboy’s saddle; the cowboy sleeps with his head in Clara’s lap, his Stetson on his stomach.

And as far as lifetimes went, basking in the warmth of the sun seemed like a pretty damn good way to spend one.

Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” It’s not what’s wrong, I thought to myself. It’s what’s right.

Derail my day? I’d drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn’t need to know that.

Ash?” She swallowed and shrugged. “Old nickname. My last name is Ashwood.

I’m not going to say what I want to say because I know you're not here yet, but I want you to know that I'm here. And that I’m waiting.

Damn. What the hell were they putting in the water in Meadowlark, Wyoming?

I never felt like I knew how to connect, or speak the right language, always just to the left of the right social cue.

I cut off so many pieces of myself trying to fit into his box, and I was just starting to get all of them back.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it. Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn't be. Honestly, it was exhausting. It took up so much of my brain even though I recognized that there wasn't very much I could do about it.

You say you're not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun. I would rather have the moon anyway.

As soon as I entered the house, my wife took me in her arms, and kissed me; at which, having not been used to the touch of that odious animal for so many years, I fell into a swoon for almost an hour. At the time I am writing, it is five years since my last return to England. During the first year, I could not endure my wife or children in my presence; the very smell of them was intolerable; much less could I suffer them to eat in the same room. To this hour they dare not presume to touch my bread, or drink out of the same cup, neither was I ever able to let one of them take me by the hand. The first money I laid out was to buy two young stone-horses, which I keep in a good stable; and next to them, the groom is my greatest favourite, for I feel my spirits revived by the smell he contracts in the stable. My horses understand me tolerably well; I converse with them at least four hours every day. They are strangers to bridle or saddle; they live in great amity with me and friendship to each other.

You don't even know me.” “I know that your feet and hands are always cold no matter the weather. I know that you prefer to wake up early on the weekends because you would rather take a nap in the afternoon than sleep in. I know you love sour candy and hate repeating yourself. I know you're always on time, and I know you're lying about hating country music. I know you.” “No, you don't. Those are all little things. Tiny things.” “The little things are the big things, Ada. They're the things all the big things are made of. I might not know you al the way, but I want to, and I'm just asking you to give me a chance to do that.

I haven’t seen you in here before,” he said. It was almost accusatory. Between his saying that and the weird way he was looking at me, I was starting to get annoyed. “Was there supposed to be a question in there?

You’re my boss. I’m contracted for a project. Once that project is complete, I’m done. I move on. I get a new boss.” Wes’s features shifted from hurt to anger. “So that’s all I am to you, then?” “That, and a good lay.” I shrugged,

Lord Antesh,” Uncle Sentes said. “I see no recognisable flag of truce, do you?” Antesh pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can’t say as I do, my lord.” “Well then.” “. . . swift transportation to any land of your choice,” the Volarian was saying, the scroll held in front of his eyes. “Plus one hundred pounds in gol—” He choked off as Antesh’s arrow punched through the scroll and the breastplate beyond. He tumbled from the saddle and lay still, the scroll pinned to his chest. “Right,” the Fief Lord said, turning away. “Let me know when the rest get here.

I shall amuse you with a tale, then,” said Will. “The tale of my hellride with Balios from London to Cadair Idris, in Wales. Your mother, James, was missing—kidnapped by the miscreant Mortmain. I leaped into Balios’s saddle. ‘If ever you loved me, Balios,’ I cried, ‘let your feet now be swift, and carry me to my dear Tessa before harm befalls her.’ It was a stormy night, though the storm that raged inside my breast was fiercer still—” “I can’t believe you haven’t heard this story before, James,” said Magnus, mildly. The two of them were sharing one side of the carriage, as it had become quickly apparent on the first day of their journey that Will needed the entire other side for dramatic gesturing. It was very strange to have heard tales of Magnus all James’s life, and now to be traveling in close quarters with him. What he’d learned in their days of travel was that despite his elaborate costumes and theatrical airs, which had alarmed several innkeepers, Magnus was surprisingly calm and practical. “I haven’t,” said James. “Not since last Thursday.

We had one car. It was a stick shift.” “But you couldn’t drive it?” I asked, tightening my hand that was on the steering wheel. “No, which meant I didn’t leave the house unless I was going somewhere within walking distance or my ex drove me.” “He didn’t try to teach you?” “He said I didn’t need to know how to drive it when he could take me anywhere I wanted to go.

They are like Pa’s eyes,” thought Scarlett, “Irish blue eyes and she’s just like him in every way.” And, as she thought of Gerald, the memory for which she had been fumbling came to her swiftly, came with the heart stopping clarity of summer lightning, throwing, for an instant, a whole countryside into unnatural brightness. She could hear an Irish voice singing, hear the hard rapid pounding of hooves coming up the pasture hill at Tara, hear a reckless voice, so like the voice of her child: “Ellen! Watch me take this one!” “No!” she cried. “No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!” Even as she leaned from the window there was a fearful sound of splintering wood, a hoarse cry from Rhett, a mêlée of blue velvet and flying hooves on the ground. Then Mr. Butler scrambled to his feet and trotted off with an empty saddle.

The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes.  The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara’s back.  Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air.  Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace.  Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths.  A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside. Silhara called a sudden halt.  Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path.  The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously. “What’s wrong?” “You’re quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle.”  He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle.  “Get down.” She slid off Gnat’s back.  Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet.  “Here.  Wrap this around you.” She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat’s back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle.  She clutched the horse’s mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other.  Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins. “Better,” he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn’t agree more.  The blanket’s warmth and Silhara’s body heat soaked through her clothing and into her bones.  She leaned into his chest.  “This is nice.” An amused rumble vibrated near her ear.  “So glad you approve.”  His hand slipped under the blanket, wandered over her belly and cupped her breast.  Martise sucked in a breath as his fingers teased her nipple through her shawl and tunic.  The heat surrounding her turned scorching.  “I agree,” he murmured in her ear.  “This is nice.” He stopped his teasing when she squirmed hard enough in the saddle to nearly unseat them both, but left his hand on her breast, content to just hold her.  Martise was ready to toss off the blanket and her shawl.  Silhara’s touch had left her with a throbbing ache between her thighs.  She smiled a little at the feel of him hard against her back.  She wasn’t the only one affected by his teasing.

The Dark One didn’t cut it in the first place,” Tairn responds. “Stop calling him that.” My knee collapses, and I throw my arms out to steady my balance, cursing my joints as I reach Tairn’s shoulder. After an hour in the saddle at these temperatures, a pissed-off knee is nothing; I’m lucky my hips still rotate. “Stop denying the truth.” Tairn enunciates every word of the damning order as I avoid a patch of ice and prepare to dismount. “His soul is no longer his own.” “That’s a little dramatic.” I’m not getting into this argument again. “His eyes are back to normal—” “That kind of power is addictive. You know it, or you wouldn’t be pretending to sleep at night.” He twists his neck in a way that reminds me of a snake and levels a golden glare on me. “I’m sleeping.” It’s not entirely a lie, but definitely time to change the subject. “Did you make me repair my saddle to teach me a lesson?” My ass protests every scale on Tairn’s leg as I slide, then land in a fresh foot of snow. “Or because you don’t trust Xaden with my gear anymore?” “Yes.” Tairn lifts his head far over mine and blasts a torrent of fire along his wing, melting off the residual ice, and I turn away from the surge of heat that painfully contrasts my body temperature. “Tairn…” I struggle for words and look up at him. “I need to know where you stand before this meeting. With or without Empyrean approval, I can’t do any of this without you.” “Meaning, will I support the myriad of ways you plan to court death in the name of curing one who is beyond redemption?” He swivels his head in my direction again. Tension crackles along Andarna’s bond. “He’s not—” I cut off that particular argument, since the rest is sound. “Basically, yes.” He grumbles deep within his chest. “I fly without warming my wings in preparation for carrying heavier weight for longer distances. Does that not answer your question?” Meaning Andarna. Relief gusts through my lips on a swift exhale. “Thank you.” Steam rolls in billowing clouds from his nostrils. “But do not mistake my unflinching support of you, my mate, and Andarna for any form of faith in him.” Tairn lifts his head, cueing the end of the conversation.

I Mountains! I whip my swift horse, glued to my saddle. I turn my head startled, The sky is three foot three above me!* II Mountains! Like great waves surging in a crashing sea, Like a thousand stallions In full gallop in the heat of battle. III Mountains! Piercing the blue of heaven, your barbs unblunted! The skies would fall But for your strength supporting.

Hey!” Issie said. “You’re too close. What are you doing?” “Giving my girlfriend a kiss,” announced Aidan. And with that, he leant over as he rose out of the saddle with a swift bounce and the next thing Issie knew Aidan’s lips had connected with her own in the briefest, most fleeting of kisses. Then they were both trotting on once more and Aidan pulled Marmite away so that the horses weren’t squashed up against each other. “This is my stop,” he said, gesturing to the turning up ahead that led to Winterflood Farm. “I’ll

Pressing a hand to her chest, Loretta glanced down in bewilderment. She had been so sure…Laughter bubbled up her throat. Aunt Rachel had missed? She never missed when she could draw a steady bead on a still target. Loretta’s throat tightened. The Comanche. She looked up, confusion clouding her blue eyes. He had shielded her with his own body? Waving his friends away, Hunter hunkered down and scooped a handful of dirt, pressing it to the shallow cut on his shoulder. Loretta stared at the blood trailing down his arm. If not for his quick thinking, it could have been her own. Survival instinct and common sense warred within her. She knew death might be preferable to what was in store for her, but she couldn’t help being glad she was alive. As if he felt her staring at him, the Comanche lifted his head. When his eyes met hers, the fury and loathing in them chilled her. He stood and jerked the feathers from his braid, wrapping them in his shirt. Never taking his gaze off her, he stuffed the bundle into a parfleche hanging from his surcingle. “Keemah,” he growled. Uncertain what he wanted and afraid of doing the wrong thing, Loretta stayed where she was. He caught her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Keemah, come!” He gave her a shake for emphasis, his eyes glittering. “Listen good, and learn quick. I have little patience with stupid women.” Grasping her waist, he tossed her on the horse and scooted her to the back of the blanket saddle. The hem of her nightgown rode high. She could feel all the men staring at her. Had he no decency? With trembling hands, she tugged at the gown and tried to cover her thighs. There wasn’t enough material to stretch. And it was so thin from years of wear, it was nearly transparent. The morning breeze raised gooseflesh on her naked arms and back. With a grim set to his mouth, her captor opened a second parfleche, withdrawing a length of braided wool and a leather thong. Before she realized what he was about to do, he knotted the wool around one of her ankles, looped it under his horse’s belly, and swiftly bound her other foot. “We must ride like the wind!” he yelled to the others. “Meadro! Let’s go!” The other men ran for their horses. Grasping the stallion’s mane, Hunter vaulted to its back and settled himself in front of her. When he reached for her arms and pulled them around him, she couldn’t stifle a gasp. Her breasts were flattened against his back. “Your woman does not like you, cousin,” someone called in English. Loretta turned to see who spoke and immediately recognized the brave who had encouraged Hunter to kill her that first day. His scarred face was unforgettable. He flashed her a twisted smile that seemed more a leer, his black eyes sliding insolently down her body to rest on her naked thighs. Then he laughed and wheeled his chestnut horse. “She won’t be worth the trouble she will make for you.” Hunter glanced over his shoulder at her. The fiery heat of his anger glowed like banked embers in his eyes. “She will learn.” With an expertise born of long practice, he lashed her wrists together with the leather. “She will learn quick.

You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.

Weston let out a laugh that felt like when you go out to bask in the sun after being in an air-conditioned space for too long. I could feel the warmth seeping into my fingers and toes.

The way he talked about his kids made me wonder how my parents talked about me.

as though in his arms was the only place she wanted to be.

Do you wanna sit?” I asked, and gestured toward the table. “We can go over…uh…everything.” Well, maybe not everything.

Not bad,” I responded, “but I feel like the delivery could be improved.” There was another flash of dimple. “How so?” “You’ve got to mean it,” I said. His expression changed. He looked confused. “Of course I meant it.” Huh. He was so convincing. Maybe if I’d had better experiences with men, I would’ve believed him.

How long have you guys been together?” Weston’s eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of his head, and Cam guffawed.

Tell me about the rest of your week.” I assumed he meant tell him about my week since Wednesday, which was the day of the storm and the power outage and the day that we…you know…banged.

I’m not going to be able to look at you while I’m driving, so answering in words would be good when I ask you a question.” “Yes, sir,” Ada said with an exaggerated eye roll. Well, that shot straight to my dick.

Are you worried at all?” I asked, trying to gauge whether or not he was as calm as he seemed. “Are you?” he responded. “No, I’m not,” I said, and I meant it. I could do this. “Okay, then. I trust you to do your job, Ada. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.” Wes shrugged his shoulders. “And if you were worried, we’d figure it out together. This project is both of ours.

There are a few things for sure that I know I want in here,” I said. Ada nodded, waiting. “My mom was a painter. A brilliant painter, really. We have stacks of her paintings in the attic. They’ve been covered for so long, and I think”—I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but that fucker wouldn’t budge—“I think she would be happy to have them here.

I went back into the bathroom and put it on over the lacy pink bra—bold for me—that I was wearing tonight. With matching panties. You know, just in case.

If I slowly moved forward, would they get out of the way? Or would I accidentally become a cow murderer? Could I kill a cow going one mile per hour? Or would I just injure it? Would I have to pay the vet bill? I couldn’t afford the vet bill for a cow. And what if I hit more than one? Oh god.

You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.

Now the cows and I were up close and personal. They were swarming my car like bees at a hive. I didn’t know how it happened—or what to do now. My windows were rolled down, and I figured I would start with just asking them to move. “Could you guys please move?” I said loudly. “I really need to get through.” I honked my horn once to emphasize my point. Nothing.

Ada, I hope your drive was okay and everything went smoothly. Excited to meet you and get started tomorrow. Best, WR

Honestly, I thought there were a lot of things that no one else knew because I didn’t know if anyone actually knew me, or if anyone ever actually wanted to.

Honestly, I enjoyed solitude, but there’s a difference between that and being lonely. For a long time, I’ve mostly been lonely.

I’d spent my entire marriage basically begging my husband to notice me, see me, love me—to do something. He never did. When you’re treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that’s how you should be treated. It left me feeling like there wasn’t anything about me that someone could love.

Remind me to check the weather in hell,” I muttered to myself as I shut the door. “I heard that,” Ada said. “Good,” I retorted.

Is this what you were thinking about? When you couldn’t take your eyes off me in the kitchen, were you thinking about touching me?” I swallowed and nodded, unsure when I decided to admit that to him—or to myself. “I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.

Kissing Wes was the closest thing I’d ever had to a religious experience.

We stared at each other for way longer than was socially acceptable, and he flashed me a small smile that hinted at a dimple on either side of his face. Not fucking dimples. Those should be illegal. Or at least require some sort of warning before flashing them at people. Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cows. I am a firm believer that if you pass them while you’re driving, you’re legally obligated to point at them and say “Cows!

I didn’t let him finish that sentence, even though a bath sounded lovely. “Weston I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Ryder. Take off your goddamn shirt. Now.

..."the unpredictability of war - that once the first shots are fired or first bombs fall, as Churchill said, the political leader loses control. Events are in the saddle. It seems that every war is begun with the assumptions it will be short. In nearly every instance, going back far into history, that assumption has been wrong. And so it happened again in Iraq and Afghanistan, as swift and successful regime changes gave way to long and bloody conflicts. In light of history, how could anyone have been surprised that our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan took unanticipated turns?

This is Storm, and there’s nothing mysterious at all about me riding him at night, even if the good folk of Tarrytown have taken to making up tales about me and my nightly rides.” He patted Storm again. “Storm, if you must know, hasn’t tolerated sunlight well for the past couple of years. His eyes have turned sensitive to the light, but I didn’t want him to grow old before his time, which is why we ride when it’s dark.” A rather warm and mushy feeling began traveling through Lucetta, a feeling that had her knees going a tad weak, until she remembered she was talking to a man who’d yet to explain why he’d been wearing an eye patch when she’d first met him, or why questionable jewelry and a bloody sword had been stashed in his fireplace. Add in the fact that there was now a suit of armor meandering around, scaring unsuspecting guests in the middle of the night, and she had no business allowing her knees to go all wobbly. “. . . and since you have managed to track me down, would you care to join us as we continue on with our nightly adventure?” “Adventure . . . ? What kind of adventure?” she asked slowly. Bram leaned down and placed his mouth directly next to her ear, his closeness sending a chill, and one she didn’t think was from the cold air, down her spine. “We’ll just have to make that up as we go.” A thread of disappointment stole over her as he straightened, moved to Storm’s side, and then swung up into the saddle. “What type of adventure sounds fun to you?” he asked. “I’m not certain what you’re asking.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Oh dear, you’ve forgotten how to have fun, haven’t you.” Annoyance was swift. “Of course I haven’t.” “Prove it.” Not one to back down from a challenge, Lucetta smiled. “Very well, off the top of my head, I believe it would be great fun to visit Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, and . . . walk amongst the gravestones.” Smiling, Bram sent her an approving sort of nod. “Very good, Miss Plum, you’re obviously a lady after my own heart, although I will admit I didn’t take you for the type who’d enjoy places that embrace a rather gothic nature.” “Or morbid, one might say,” she added. Nodding

He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close to keep them in unison. Even so, the tassel on her hat slapped him with each bound. Reluctantly, he had to admit she hadn’t been lying when she said she could ride without a saddle. She kept her back straight, her body in tune with the horse. In another minute, he’d slow them down. But for now, he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. He wished he could see her costume in daylight. He felt sure she wouldn’t fool anyone. With their positions as such, he could tell she’d bound her chest. Why go to all that trouble only to wear a lady’s shirtwaist? And that stocking cap was about to drive him— The cap flew from her head, releasing a bounty of hair and a burst of cinnamon. She whipped her face around. “My hat!” A thick braid, loosened from the cap’s constant agitation, began to swiftly unravel. He tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go back for it later. First, we get you home.” “But my mother—” “Shush.” Reaching around her neck, she grabbed the remains of her braid and pulled it over her shoulder, holding it tight against her collarbone. Instead of slowing them, he continued at a trot, bouncing as one atop the horse. Finally, when the cottage came into sight, he slowed to a walk, but kept his arm where it was.

That’s what I meant when I said that my brain didn’t feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness instead.

When you google it—again, stupid Google

Honestly, I never would’ve guessed that was something he dealt with. Wes looked so happy. But I guess depression wasn’t really about what you looked like or how you appeared but more about what you felt like.

Sorry about him.” His voice was close to me now. My fluffy companion wagged his tail as his owner’s footsteps approached. “He’s got a thing for beautiful women.

Like any space, the internet had its share of assholes,

I said, even though the chances of my joining her for coffee were slim. I wanted to—Cam seemed great—but I just didn’t know how to have friends, really. I was afraid that if she talked to me for more than five minutes, she’d decide she didn’t like me as much as she thought she did. I was best in small doses.

Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it.

The best part about the night? I was back at the Big House by nine-thirty.

Are you seriously shirtless and bottle-feeding a baby cow right now?” I winked at her and she groaned, “You’ve got to be kidding me.

For years, I had desperately wanted someone to just…be…with me. To sit next to me while the power was out and weather the storm together.

At this point, I was pretty sure I’d been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

Are you seriously shirtless and bottle-feeding a baby cow right now?

I need a car, Wes,” Ada asserted again. “Then I’ll get you a car,” I said simply. “You’re not getting me a car,” she

My heart ached for a future that wasn’t beholden to my past.

It didn’t take long for me to conclude that he actually should not be allowed to wear shirts. He should just always walk around like this—shirtless and glistening.

On her feet were the socks I’d left outside her door. She wore them all the time, and every time I saw them, I had to try not to smile. Smiling would give it away and she would know for sure that it’d been me. Then she’d probably decide never to wear them again and let her toes freeze off just to spite me.

She was about to step in, but I stopped her. I bent down and touched the water first to make sure it wasn’t too hot. An expression I hadn’t seen before flashed across her face when I did it, but I didn’t know what it meant and it wasn’t there long enough for me to try to figure it out. “All good,