It was the best kind of November day. Cold and crisp, but not quite freezing, not icy. Just cold enough that she could justifiably wear all her favorite clothes—cardigans and tights and leg warmers.

She bent her neck back and kissed him like she never had before. Like she wasn't scared of doing it wrong.

Nothing before you counts,” he said. “And I can’t even imagine an after.

Love. Purpose. Those are things that you can't plan for. Those are things that just happen.

Cath felt like she was swimming in words. Drowning in them, sometimes.

To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.

Looks like somebody's got jungle fever.' 'That's not even the right kind of racist.