...just a little touches her and there. He puts his hands on your arms or back, he stands close to you, getting you used to him... it's a mating ritual. Like March of the Penguins.

I think at this point, safety isn't a feeling, it's a process. Starting with trust.

But Harry . . . even if we had met and married three years ago, you’d still say it wasn’t enough time.” “You’re right. I can’t think of a single day of my life that wouldn’t have been improved with you in it.” “Darling,” she whispered, her fingertips coming up to stroke his jaw, “that’s lovely. Even more romantic than comparing me to watch parts.” Harry nipped at her finger. “Are you mocking me?” “Not at all,” Poppy said, smiling. “I know how you feel about gears and mechanisms.

You know what it is you smell on him, Haven? Testosterone. It's leaking out of his pores.

Can't you just tell me now?" "No, I need someone to eat with." A slight smile rose to my lips. "Am I supposed to believe that I'm your only option?" "No. But you're my favorite option.

Sometimes people don't have to make you love them...you just do, and there's no help for it.

What does your gut tell you?" "My gut and I aren't currently speaking to each other