“You are,” she said easily. “You are my shady willow on a sunny day.” “You,” I said, “are sweet music in a distant room.” “That’s good,” she said. “You are unexpected cake on a rainy afternoon.” “You’re the poultice that draws the poison from my heart,” I said. “Hmm.” Denna looked uncertain. “I don’t know about that one. A heart full of poison isn’t an appealing thought.” “Yeah,” I admitted. “That sounded better before I actually said it.” “That’s what happens when you mix your metaphors,” she said. A pause. “Did you get my note?”
