The Courting of Bristol Keats (The Courting of Bristol Keats, #1)

by Mary E. Pearson

Our past is a shadow that follows us. For better or worse, it shapes us, and sometimes it controls us.

People who lied about who they really were always had an angle, something they were working that, in the end, would cost you more than you could afford.

Her father was lost without her mother. She had been the sun rising in his mornings and the moon whispering him to sleep at night. He couldn’t move forward. His paintings remained unfinished.

Life wasn’t always about change but sometimes about sameness. And sometimes sameness made you look beneath the surface, look at the bones that held it all together—and the flaws that could be its undoing. Change was a distraction. Sameness demanded reflection.