Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters, #2)

by Talia Hibbert

“It’s March. The end of the semester is in sight. They’re”—Dani let her gaze drift over the far-too-perky students filling the shop—“hopeful.” “Someone should cure them of that. It’s disrespectful on a Monday morning.”

Dani stared. “Reward me? With what? Because I only accept books or food.”

As Gigi always said, Men are much less time-consuming when you lie.

What an absolutely sickening display. Romance clearly melted the brains of sensible women. Dani was horribly glad she had nothing to do with it.

The word husband gave her hives. As if romantic relationships weren’t impossible enough without the extra pressure of a bloody legal contract.

Journalists had been all over his “tragic” story like flies on shit, and his world had shattered under someone else’s microscope.

The poltergeist of his grief curled itself up tight inside him. Pain was private. Some things weren’t for public consumption. There were lines.

“I’m bisexual.” “Got it.” He crushed his sandwich wrapper into a ball and reminded himself that just because Danika was into guys didn’t necessarily mean she was into security guards with the social skills of a fucking brick wall.

“You’d never tell an athlete to just get over a sprain; you’d give them time to recover, physical therapy, whatever they needed. Why are mental health conditions any different?”

“I don’t let anyone feed me or force me to take breaks or drag me outside to see the sun. And lately I’ve been thinking—what did I do before you? Did I just . . . not eat? Not sleep? Not breathe? I don’t even remember, like it was so unimportant my brain didn’t retain the information. But that’s not okay. Taking care of myself matters just as much as my work.”

“At the time, it was romance novels that reminded me. Since you’ve never read one, that probably sounds weird. But it’s all about emotion, Dan—the whole thing, the whole story, the whole point. Just book after book about people facing their issues head on, and handling it, and never, ever failing—at least, not for good. I felt like my world had already ended unhappily, but every book I read about someone who’d been through the worst and found happiness anyway seemed to say the opposite. Like my story didn’t need to be over if I didn’t want it to. Like, if I could just be strong enough to reclaim my emotions, and to work through them, maybe I’d be okay again. That’s kind of what inspired me to, er, keep going. To make good choices, even when feeling better seemed impossible.”

“I would rather be trying and stumbling with you than doing anything—seriously, absolutely anything—with anyone else.”