Book Lovers

by Emily Henry

“Awfully quiet back there, Stephens,” he says. “Anything I can do to make your journey more comfortable? A neck pillow? Some of those tiny Delta cookies?” “I’d take some spurs and a riding crop,” I say. “Should’ve seen that coming,” he grumbles.

Sometimes, even when you start with the last page and you think you know everything, a book finds a way to surprise you.

“We get on the phone, and we look up at the sky, and then we’ll know we’re still together. Wherever we go.”

Maybe love shouldn’t be built on a foundation of compromises, but maybe it can’t exist without them either. Not the kind that forces two people into shapes they don’t fit in, but the kind that loosens their grips, always leaves room to grow. Compromises that say, there will be a you-shaped space in my heart, and if your shape changes, I will adapt. No matter where we go, our love will stretch out to hold us, and that makes me feel like . . . like everything will be okay.