Burning Daylight (Defying the Stars, #1)

by Emily McIntire

He nods. “See you when you come back.” “You’ll be waiting a while.” “Guess I’ve got a lot of daylight to burn, then.”

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”

“That’s oddly profound.” He nods solemnly, his hand to his chest. “Winnie the Pooh said that.” “Of course he did.” I laugh. “Leave it to a stuffed bear to make you sound enlightened.”

“God, you’re like a lost puppy,” she mutters. My lips curve up, attraction flaring to life in my chest. Damn, she’s fun to rile up. She’s so wound tight and ready to snap. “Does that mean you’ll pet me if I’m a good boy?”

“I don’t normally do this, you know?” she says. The corner of my mouth lifts. “Good. I’m territorial.” “What’s that mean?” “It means you’re mine.”

She’s chaos and comfort. A contradiction I want to memorialize as the perfect piece of art.

“Maybe you just didn’t see me.” He takes a slow sip of his coffee without looking away. “Impossible.” “Is it?” “There’s no world that exists where I wouldn’t see you.”

She’s… Well, I think she’s kind of everything.

“That sketchbook’s the east,” he whispers. “And you, Juliette, are the sun.”

“Because every time you smile,” I say, “every time you give me that little look like you can’t decide if you want to throttle me or kiss me, I want to keep you forever.”

“I’m so in love with you, I’ve forgotten how to exist without you,” I say. “I love you like I was made to love you. Like I came into this world just so you could carve out my heart and leave yourself inside it.”

Our love burns so bright it’s blinding. But hate knows how to swallow up light.