The truth is, normal might take years. Normal might never happen. But it’s definitely not going to happen if I lounge around here watching soaps and avoiding life. I’m going to school today, end of story.

I’m not going to kill you, Nora. I don’t kill people who are important to me. And you top the list.

Try it on." "It's probably a little snug," I said, suddenly feeling conspicuous. "Marcie tends to buy down when it comes to sizing." He merely smiled. "It has a slit up the thigh." His smile deepened.

First,” he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, “choose your tomato.” He dipped his head so his mouth was at my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin. “Good. Now pick up the knife.” “Does the chef always stand this close?” I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me. “When he’s revealing culinary secrets, yes.

You’re not going to drive me home?” I asked. A waste of breath, since I knew her answer. “There’s fog.” “Patchy fog.” Vee grinned. “Oh, boy. He is so on your mind. Not that I blame you. Personally, I’m hoping I dream about him tonight.

I looked to the window. Patch was gone, but a single black feather was pressed to the outer pane, held in place by last night's rain. Or Angel Magic

If I need romance, that's what Netflix is for.