You've always lived here, right?" Sarah asked. "Except for the years I went to college." "Didn't you ever want to move away? To experience something new?" "Like bistros?" She nudged him playfully with her elbow. "No, not just that. Cities have a vibrancy, a sense of excitement that you can't find in a small town." "I don't doubt it. But to be honest, I've never been interested in things like that. I don't need those things to make me happy. A nice quiet place to unwind at the end of the day, beautiful views, a few good friends. What else is there?

How far would you go to keep the hope of love alive?

I might kiss you. I might be bad at it. That's not possible.

All he knew was that they fit somehow, and that he felt as if he spent most of his life traveling a path that led inexorably to her.

Comfort and familiarity were wonderful but they also dulled passion and excitement. Predictability and habit made surprises almost impossible.

Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars-a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they're gone.

Making love, she'd always believed, was more than simply a pleasurable act between two people. It encompassed all that a couple was supposed to share: trust & commitement, hopes & dreams, a promise to make it through whatever the future might bring. The greater the love; the greater the tragedy when it is over