Cath wanted to go back and rewrite every scene she'd ever written about Baz or Simon's chests. She'd written them flat and sharp and hard. Levi was all soft motion and breath, curves and warm hollows. Levi's chest was a living thing.

I think I can live without you, but it won't be any kind of life.

That’s because you ooze preemptive leave-me-alone death rays.

So why aren’t you living with your sister?” “She wanted to meet new people,” Cath said. “You make it sound like she broke up with you.

I know that people change. I thought... I thought we're going to change together. I thought that's what it meant to be in love.

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.

There's only of him, she thought, and he's right here.