He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.

All the things she planned to feel, the way she planned to look and seem, the appropriate things she planned to say. None of them came to pass.

Alice suspected Paul couldn’t really picture his father, just like she couldn’t picture Paul when he was away. Maybe that was the case with people you wanted more than was good for you.

She perched on her windowsill, gazing at the lurid sun soaking into the Caldera, trying to appreciate it even though she couldn’t have it. Why did she always feel she had to do something in the face of beauty?

Forget Jack, I'm in love with the cold, dirt floor.

I was supposed to write a romantic comedy, but my characters broke up.

Blood may be thicker than water, but friendship is thicker than both.