It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.

She was so Southern that she cried tears that came straight from the Mississippi, and she always smelled faintly of cottonwood and peaches.

But relying on one person for your every need is so dangerous. One set of hands isn't enough to keep you from falling.

She knew what it felt like to stand in front of someone and ask them to love you, to try to pull them to you by the sheer force of your desire, a force so strong it felt as though you were going to die from it.

Because he knew the best way to get what he wanted was to break down what made us strongest. And our friendships were what made us strong.

Her friendship . . . still existed, as if it was a living, breathing thing, something that came to life the moment it happened and didn't just go away because they no longer acknowledged it.

To Fred, those years seemed to pass like quickly skimming a book and then finding the ending wasn't what he expected. He wished he'd paid more attention to the story.