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The past drawn like a silk sheet over the present.
“I’ll see you there,” he says, the words full of hope as she turns and steps through the door. She looks back, and says, “Don’t forget me in the meantime.” An old habit. A superstition. A plea. Toby shakes his head. “How could I?” She smiles, as if it’s just a joke. But Addie knows, as she forces herself down the stairs, that it’s already happening—knows that by the time he closes the door, she’ll be gone.
When dreamers were most prone to bad ideas, and wanderers were likely to get lost. Addie has always been predisposed to both.
Blink, and the years fall away like leaves.
She will grow out of it, her parents say—but instead, Adeline feels herself growing in, holding tighter to the stubborn hope of something more.
She said no, and learned how much the word was worth.
attraction can look an awful lot like recognition in the wrong light.
Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it’s home. James was like that, instantly likable.
When everything slips through your fingers, you learn to savor the feel of nice things against your palm.
how much simpler it would be to be a man, how easily they move through the world, and at such little cost.
She watches these men and wonders anew at how open the world is to them, how easy the thresholds.
There is no introduction, no formal exchange. He simply dives into the conversation, as if they have known each other for years instead of minutes.
Remy Laurent is laughter bottled into skin. It spills out of him at every turn.
Henry casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling. It’s like light behind a curtain, the edge of the sun behind clouds, more a promise than an actual thing, but the warmth shines through.
A woman alone is a scandalous sight.
Ideas are wilder than memories.
“I love you,” he says, and Addie wonders if this is love, this gentle thing. If it is meant to be this soft, this kind. The difference between heat, and warmth. Passion, and contentment. “I love you too,” she says. She wants it to be true.
Belief is a bit like gravity. Enough people believe a thing, and it becomes as solid and real as the ground beneath your feet. But when you’re the only one holding on to an idea, a memory, a girl, it’s hard to keep it from floating away.
