Coffee, she'd discovered, was tied to all sorts of memories, different for each person. Sunday mornings, friendly get-togethers, a favorite grandfather long since gone, the AA meeting that saved their life. Coffee meant something to people. Most found their lives were miserable without it. Coffee was a lot like love that way. And because Rachel believed in love, she believed in coffee, too.

My writing process is very organic. I start with an idea. I have the general story arc and the cast. But then I sit down to write, and things change.

If a man has so much heat he burns your skin when he touches you, he's the devil. Run away

Men of thoughtless actions are always surprised by consequences.

She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again.

Like magic, she felt him getting nearer, felt it like a pull in the pit of her stomach. It felt like hunger but deeper, heavier. Like the best kind of expectation. Ice cream expectation. Chocolate expectation.

...a sad sort of vulnerability was wafting from her, making the night smell like maple syrup.