Kindle Notes & Highlights
Sam showed me the best meals on the menu and talked me through coping mechanisms, which, might I add, aren't all that healthy, but hey, he tried. A for effort or whatever the fuck it is they say.
It’s simply because forgetting a face like that would be hard. She’s stunning, like the sound of thunder rolling over waves. No, she’s beautiful like raindrops on wilted petals. Fuck even that doesn't do her justice.
“Eat while you’re at it. Maybe then you’ll stop growling at me.”
“Look at us having our first argument. We’re fucking adorable.” “Oh my God, you’re insufferable.”
“Here lies Creeper,” Moe begins solemnly. “Taken from us too soon—” “Shut up,” I hiss, shoving his chest again. “Whoa, careful,” he teases. “You might need to stay in my arms. Bob the Bee might be next, and I don’t think there’s enough space in this garden for him to be buried, too.”
“Why?” And I almost tell her the truth. Because the world could fall apart tomorrow. Because I need to feel like I’ve given you power over me, even if I have none over anything else. Because if I’m turning into something dark, I need to know the last light I touched was you.
“What the fuck, Moe?” he hisses, jerking upright, rubbing his skull like I cracked it open. His glare is half-offended, half-relieved. “You hit me in the med bay?”
“If you try anything, I will remove your teeth with a pen.”
“And the worst part?” Her arms drop to her sides. “The worst part is that even after all of it... I still want to believe you. I still want to fall back into whatever this is, like it won’t kill me.”
“You better bounce back quick,” Caspian says, dropping the bags on the tray table, “because if you’re not on your feet in time for my wedding, I swear I’ll wheel your arse down the aisle and make you slow dance with Sam.”
My vision blurs as I head behind the counter, but I catch sight of the order slip still sitting there, left by Jack. Chocolate chip pancakes. In the corner, small and almost hidden, is his familiar crooked scrawl: Hi. I’m Moe. Still yours.
“I’m not staring,” I mutter defensively. “You’re burning holes in her skull,” he says, deadpan. “People are gonna start thinking you developed laser vision. Or had a stroke.”
It all began the night of Caspian’s wedding. One bag of clothes, a toothbrush, and his boots by the front door, and somehow, he never left. The place that used to smell like mildew and grief, and I couldn’t walk through it without feeling the weight of every bad memory pressing against my ribs. Now, it carries the scent of bergamot from candles I keep forgetting to blow out, the smell of burnt toast from Moe’s heroic but tragic attempts at breakfast, and a trace of his cologne on everything he touches.
“Okay,” I say, stretching out the word. “What did I just walk into? And please, for the love of all things good and holy, do not say 'porn.' Because I will absolutely have to murder you in front of your coworkers, and I’d hate to ruin your new promotion.”
“I brought lunch. But if you’re too busy committing felonies, I’ll just feed it to the men in the cellars.”
