Beard in Mind (Winston Brothers, #4)

by Penny Reid

“Today isn’t Sunday,” I said, 99% sure it wasn’t Sunday. Not unless I’d slept through Saturday.

I blinked up at her. “Can I help you?” “Do you . . . like to eat?” “To eat?” “Food.” “Food?” Dammit.

He’d chosen his muffin, now he had to live with that choice. And whether or not she ultimately wanted his sausage was his problem.

I didn’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t. Where essential met madness, that’s where I was.

I ignored her inspection, instead enjoying the weight and heat and texture of her hand in mine. I got the sense I’d won a battle of some sort. Now all that remains is the war.

I would not cheat myself out of the possibility of her, of us, of hope and happiness. I refused to expect or anticipate misery.

Maybe the healthiest and longest-lasting relationship in my life would be with my car. I could do worse.

I have similar thoughts about my books lol

“All people are broken, Shelly. No one is perfect. Some seek help. Some don’t. But no one is ever fixed by another person. We can only work on ourselves. We are—using your analogy—our own refrigerators, no one else’s.”

I wondered if I’d carry an ache for her everywhere I went for the rest of our lives. It wouldn’t be so bad, I reckoned, as long as she was always there to ease it.

“Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” W.S. Merwin

“As a philosophy,” I pointed to the cup, “the point of kintsugi is to treat broken pieces and their repair as part of the history of an object. A break is something to remember, something of value, a way to make the piece more beautiful, rather than something to disguise. They use gold, not invisible superglue, because mistakes shouldn’t be considered ugly. Broken pieces and their repair merely contribute to the story of an object, they don’t ruin it.”