He scooped up Victoria practically before she hit the ground, well within the five-second rule. If she'd been a potato chip, he could have still eaten her. Not something I particularly wanted to contemplate.

Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.

He went through the cupboards, found the olive oil, and started upstairs again. He glanced down at the green and gold label and had to bite back a laugh at the words Extra Virgin. That about summed it up.

You couldn't hurt a fly." Actually I was pretty good at pinging flies right out of the air, but I tried to look appropriately harmless.

You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.