What mattered most was knowing that love was mine to give, without strings or expectations.

She couldn’t read his expression. As he started toward her, she recalled the way he’d seemed to glide through the sand the first time she’d ever seen him; she remembered their kiss on the boat dock the night of his sister’s wedding. And she heard again the words she’d said to him on the day they’d said good-bye. She was besieged by a storm of conflicting emotions—desire, regret, longing, fear, grief, love. There was so much to say, yet what could they really begin to say in this awkward setting and with so much time already passed?

Focus in on the genre you want to write, and read books in that genre. A LOT of books by a variety of authors. And read with questions in your mind.

Our lives can't be measured by our final years, of this I am sure.

I love you," he finally whispered. She leaned forward and touched his face. "I know. And I love you, too.

Tough toenails, tiger. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things.

It took me a long time to realize that distance can ruin even the best of intentions.