I leaned back against him and rested my cheek on his shoulder. I could feel the river water dripping off of him. "Thank you" I whispered. When I looked up, I saw he was crying.

Who's that little brunette?" Suzanne asked. "I hate little petite types. Gregory doesn't look right with someone petite. Little face, little hands, little dainty feet." "Big boobs," Beth said, glancing up.

I think I’m dying to get to know a particular guy. Then he opens his mouth and ruins it.

The truth was, it was myself I couldn't trust, my eyes from betraying my heart.

There's a gentleness about April that made me ache. It seemed like I was always on the run, always working and chasing some goal or another, but April had a way of holding me still. And then I'd begin to hurt and yearn for something I couldn't describe, something I hadn't known yet. All I knew was the ache itself and the strange, sweet feeling it was.

I'm sorry that you're still hurting.

I felt mocked. "That's what I get for trusting you." He took a step back. "Excuse me! Trust doesn't mean you get the response you want from someone, but that you'll get an honest response, and that the other person will stick by you even when you can't agree." Stick by you for how long, through how much? I wondered. What is the expiration date on trust?