Slightly South of Simple (Peachtree Bluff, #1)

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

Sometimes you don’t know how empty your fridge—or your heart—can be. You don’t realize it, that is, until at long last, you find them full again.

The tide always lent me serenity. It was constant, changeless. Every day it had its highs and its lows, but, like clockwork, it continued on. That was how I needed to be too. Sometimes low, sometimes high, but always steady.

I was tough. She was right. But sometimes you don’t want to have to be tough.

I couldn’t imagine it, starting over again. I hadn’t been on a date in fourteen years, hadn’t slept with a man who wasn’t my husband. I couldn’t envision having to become that comfortable with someone again, having to get to know him, fall in love.

He knew how to grill a steak, fix a sink, kill a deer, and give you a kiss so sweet that you forgot your own name.

Surrender, I thought. It was a tricky thing. Letting go. Trusting another person more than you trusted yourself. Knowing he would be there for you. Believing that the universe would send you the right thing.

“It’s going to be harder than hell. But doing the hard thing, even when it hurts, is what makes you strong.”

“You’re right. Whatever I try to say sounds idiotic. But I realized that feeling your heart race because someone famous was giving you all her attention is not love. Someone who has your back, who gets you through the hard times . . . that’s love.”

The head wants one thing, the heart wants the other. How I wished I could get them to do the same thing at the same time.

The moments that sneak up on you, the little surprises that keep you guessing, make life so worth exploring, even when the unthinkable happens.