Between a Fox and a Hard Place (Fox Family, #1)

by Mary Frame

He’s like a lumberjack: strong, beefy, possibly able to lift me with a single arm or exact vengeance on all my enemies.

I called you a lumbersnack, I would appreciate it. If I had known you were a guest, I would never have compared you to”—her face scrunches in thought—“something both brawny and appetizing.”

“That one doesn’t have to put the cookies in the oven. He just walks by and winks at it.”

I didn’t know until this moment that I had been waiting for that genuine happiness, aimed in my direction. I could conquer entire worlds for that smile.

It doesn’t go away. The pain, the grief. It never goes away; it just changes shape.”

“Yep. Sometimes you just want to throw things. And throwing and stabbing at the same time is like an added bonus.”

“You can’t come here and be all,” I gesture at him, “like this! Then leave and expect me not to get upset about it.”

“Life is messy sometimes. Whatever happens, we clean it up together.”

But grief is the price we pay for love. Given the choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief. Every time.

“I knew you were the one when Jacob puked on your shoes and you laughed.”

“Finley.” I duck my head to get closer. “You are my home. I love you.”