Oh my God. I thought I was going to have an aneurysm right there in line. Your hair smells really good? Your hair smells really good? Who did he think he was? James Bond? You don't tell someone their hair smells good. Not in a mall.

He let his mouth linger on mine, neither possessively nor sweetly... like his mouth just belonged there on mine. And he was right. It did. It always had.

But then I remembered something Grandmere had once assured me of: No one has ever died of embarrassment-never, not once in the whole history of time.

he'd know that I think that . . . well, that bending an enemy's will through military force is the absolute last way a nation ought to go about solving their problems.

She'd realize Steve was her soul mate and that she would never love anyone as much as she loved him.

I think you get so wrapped up in the book you're currently writing, it's hard to think about anything else. But I know as soon as I'm done with this book, I'll move on to something else.

It's just that the times I'm wrong don't register in your memory with as much clarity as the times I'm right.