I wasn’t a fabulous cook. I didn’t have a boyfriend, much less a husband. And I wasn’t a big financial success. I could live with all those failings as long as I knew that once in a while I looked really hot.

He rooted for the Mets, he wore Foot of the Loom underwear, and he drove a Buick. His loyalties were carved in stone and he wasn't about to be impressed with some upstart of a toaster salesman who drove a Bonneville.

It was a weird sensation. Like getting caught eavesdropping, or lying, or sitting on the toilet and having the bathroom walls suddenly drop away.

Ranger declined the butterscotch pudding, not wanting to disrupt the consistency of his blood sugar level. I had two puddings and coffee, choosing to keep my pancreas at peak performance. Use it or lose it is my philosophy.

That’s nice of you, but it’s not necessary to loan me a car.” “I loan you cars all the time.” “And I almost always destroy them or lose them. I have terrible luck with cars.” “Working at Rangeman is a high-stress job, and you’re one of our few sources of comic relief. I give you a car and my men start a pool on how long it will take you to trash it. You’re a line item in my budget under entertainment.

I think I got a bruise from landing on you. I hear bacon is real good for healing a bruise.

Fine. Let Ranger get someone else. Trust me, you don't want to be out looking for a parking place on Sloane in the middle of the night." I won't have to look for a parking place. Tank's picking me up. Your working with a guy name Tank? He's big. Jesus, Morelli said. I had to fall in love with a woman who works with a guy named Tank. You love me? Of course i love you. I just don't want to marry you.