Happy Place

by Emily Henry

Normally, I’d rather roll down a mountainside covered in broken glass and sticky traps than create conflict, but the longer this goes on, the harder it’s going to be to get out of our lie.

Whereas any confidence I have is the hard-won spoils from spending the bulk of my childhood with braces and the haircut of an unfortunate poodle.

He’s a golden boy. I’m a girl whose life has been drawn in shades of gray. I try not to love him. I really try.

“Oh, come on, Harriet,” he whispers as I yelp and thrust my face into his chest. “I’m sure that wasn’t your first antler impalement. I’ve seen your library books.” “It’s different,” I hiss, drawing back to peer at him through the dark. “Those are cozy.” “That just means whoever finds the body has a boring job and wears sweater-vests.”