Stef

“I walked in without knocking. The screen door banged to a close behind me announcing my presence. I followed my nose to the kitchen and found Kaleb standing by the stove. He stirred something that smelled absolutely delicious a wooden spoon in one hand and a huge chef’s knife in the other.

“Are you sober?” I asked from the doorway.

He turned and leveled a smile at me that made me a little wobbly. “I am."

“Good. Because if not I was going to take the deadly kitchen utensil away from you.” I crossed the room and pulled myself up to sit on the counter beside the stove. A cutting board full of green peppers and two uncut stalks of celery waited for attention from the knife. Melted butter and diced onions bubbled in a sauté pan on the stove. “You cook."

Kaleb was so pretty I was jealous. Pretty with ripped muscles and a tattoo of a red dragon covering most of his upper body. “Yes,” he said. “I cook.”

“Do you usually wear a wife beater and,” I pushed him back a little by his shoulder “an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ while you’re doing it? ”

He leaned so close to me my heart skipped a couple of beats. “I’ll wear it all the time if you’ll consider it.”
― Myra McEntire, Hourglass

“I'm not unhappy," he said. "Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I've got a purpose.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

“But then again, maybe bad things happen because it’s the only way we can keep remembering what good is supposed to look like.”
― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

“I’ll tell them,” she said. “I’ll tell them it was my fault.”

He looked at her, gold eyes incredulous. “You can’t lie to them.”

“I’m not. I brought you back,” she said. “You were dead, and I brought you back. I upset the balance, not you. I opened the door for Lilith and her stupid ritual. I could have asked for anything, and I asked for you.” She tightened her grip on his shirt, her fingers white with cold and pressure. “And I would do it again. I love you, Jace Wayland—Herondale—Lightwood—whatever you want to call yourself. I don’t care. I love you and I wil always love you, and pretending it could be any other way is just a waste of time.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels