Happy Place

by Emily Henry

Wyn’s and my first place, just the two of us. A hissing radiator. A ghost who never does much, other than open a window when it’s cool out or knock a book off a shelf. Sitting on the floor, eating noodles straight from the take-out boxes because we don’t have a couch yet.

“I mean that you have the weirdest laugh of anyone I’ve ever met, Harriet,” he says softly. “And it feels like taking a shot of tequila every time I hear it. Like I could get drunk on the sound of you. Or hungover when I go too long without you.

The world’s always going to need surgeons, but it’s going to need bowls too. Forget what you think anyone else wants. What do you want?”