Night of Cake and Puppets (Daughter of Smoke & Bone, #1.5)

by Laini Taylor

What did I think, that Mik would thrust open the door and demand, ‘Why purrest thou, feline?’

‘Well played, handsome man. Now let us eat strudel and then kiss. Just as soon as I get back from the bathroom.’

‘That was what I hoped it meant,’ I say. ‘But if puella meant, like, sandwich, or bicycle, it could have been pretty embarrassing.’

MY EPIC FAILURE TO CARPE.

happy with this layer-cake happiness that goes from bone-deep contentment – luxurious and almost lazy, like a hot bath – to fizzing, sparkler-in-the-heart-hole happiness that’s waking up new parts of my brain and teaching them dance steps.

Mik called me. This is now a thing that happens.

Layers of light. Blue eyes are starlight. I never knew.

Which is what one always hopes will happen: for life to take over and be bigger and more marvelous than what we can dream up on our own.