Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)

by Hannah Grace

We survived high school together, and I watched him date everyone in our class without a “You Belong with Me” moment in sight.

People can enjoy reading and still maintain a healthy attachment to reality,

I loved when Anastasia was living here, but she should have been charged with disturbing the peace.

“I find it hard to concentrate when you’re driving. Fearing for my life takes up a lot of mental space.”

“Are you always this… persistent? Convincing? Dare I say, slightly stubborn?”

Do you need extra pillows? Blankets? Protective weapon?”

“I didn’t know what you like. Anastasia said sunflowers and Aurora said peonies, but I remembered you have a pink dress with tiny daisies on it so I thought they might be your favorite.” I might start crying.

WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, my parents taught me that it’s more valuable to be the person who helps someone achieve their goals than to be the person who achieves it for them.

I want to disown my friends.

The massive duck has to go in a different room. Quack Efron lives there and you don’t.

When I said I felt bad that I got off and he didn’t, he climbed off me and explained in detail about why that was bullshit, and that sex isn’t for exchanging favors.

“Reading books is definitely the best hobby a person can have.”

It certainly did not involve me lying on my living room floor on a Tuesday evening with a slightly stale bag of chips and a pile of tissues because listening to “Marjorie” makes me miss my Nana and I can’t stop crying.

I reach for my phone and turn down my sad Taylor music playlist because Henry’s just gotten through his funk, and he doesn’t need to see me bawl my eyes out if “this is me trying” comes on.

His steady heartbeat is soothing, and he’s quick to reach for my phone to skip when the familiar notes of “Marjorie” start to play again.

“I’m baking your cookies for book club tomorrow. I’ve watched you do it a million times, so it’ll be easy. I have your nana’s recipe and a strong desire to not be haunted by her if I fuck it up.”

I should say something, anything, maybe write him a thank-you letter or erect a monument in his honor.

I only get to see the things he does for me, not for himself. The drawings of Joy, the flowers he draws because I prefer them to real ones now, the portrait of Quack Efron being a distinguished gentleman wearing a suit, and not forgetting the things he draws on me.

“I have two hours to kill. Do you want to break the ‘No heavy petting in the library’ rule with me?”

“I think the right person makes you the person you were supposed to be in the first place. I don’t agree that you become a different person.

“You’ve really got this gentleman thing down,” I tease. “It’s the suit.” He threads his fingers through mine like he did earlier. “Makes me act up.”

That said, our house still looks like Michael Bublé himself threw up on it. Michael—and I’ve been forced to listen to him enough that I feel like I can call him by his first name—has been playing for the past week.

You’re the invisible string, brother.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that. I don’t think a symptom of pregnancy is looking like you’re on the brink of death.” “You clearly haven’t seen Breaking Dawn

Oh, you look like my husband. Which one? My next one.

“I want to take off all your clothes, cover you in paint, and fuck you right here on the floor,” he says, pointing to the center of the canvas. “Respectfully, of course.” I have been saying I wish I knew more about Henry’s creative process… “I love art.”

POPPY GRANT Bark at him AURORA ROBERTS bark at him EMILIA BENNETT Bark at him! HALLE JACOBS He’s asking what I’m laughing at CAMI WALKER woof woof woof woof woof

“Do you practice giving speeches just in case you ever have an opportunity to give one?”

This might be my favorite romance book, but we’re my favorite love story.

“No driving if you’re drinking. Got it?” “I don’t even have a car,”

Long Story Short, I Graduated

Lola’s heading back east to try to take over Broadway and continue her lifelong mission to be the scariest person in New York City.

“He didn’t make any speeches. You guys got really drunk and performed the Mamma Mia! soundtrack on the karaoke all night.”