The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, #3)

by Rick Riordan

Alex peered at me over the top of his glasses, his dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon.

My teeth clattered out telegraph messages.

usual. His gentle brown eyes kept blinking like he was expecting a drop of cold water to splash on his forehead.

Was it possible to dissolve into chocolate on a molecular level and melt into a puddle on the carpet? Because that’s how I felt. I’m pretty sure Valhalla had to resurrect me several times during the course of that kiss.