The Slowest Burn Quotes

“My sweet, big-hearted, loyal Puck, who I'd thought would ruin my life for fun but actually made it infinitely better. Every day now held a lot more laughter, a lot more joy, a lot more delicious food that I didn't have to make myself. Sure, we disagreed and debated and sometimes threw up our hands at each other's stubbornness, but I knew that he'd never walk away if I argued back, and I'd always be on his side, even if he made me slap my forehead sometimes. Every time we worked things out, we added another brick to our foundations, and marrying him would make what we'd built even stronger.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“After I'd polished off one pastry and was halfway through a second, he asked, "Happy pastry?"
The laugh bubbled up around my mouthful of blackberry jam and vanilla custard. I swallowed and said, "Understatement. Ecstatic pastry. Delighted pastry. I-love-you pastry."
He cracked up. "Wow, strong words. All I had to do was bring you the finest croissants in the land."
I put my plate on the nightstand and crawled to him. "Please don't think you have to buy me fancy pastry all the time so I'll stay in love with you."
"What do I have to do?" He set his plate aside. "Spoil Floyd rotten? Make you shrimp for dinner every day?"
"Be yourself," I said.
His wolfish grin was gorgeous, and when I kissed him, his joy was buttery sweet on my tongue.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“This is my number one fantasy, your legs spread wide just for me." The way he looked at me there was almost feral. "You're soft, and pink, and pretty, and I want to eat you up.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I'd heard on a podcast once about a Japanese technique for fixing broken pottery, where the artist would mix gold with glue, binding the cracks together and making them glow.
I wasn't the distraction, Ellie was saying. The book was, and all the burdens that came with it.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“The rich smells of long-simmered chicken, onion, and garlic curled around us, and Nicole hummed with every mouthful. Ten seconds later, my stomach hissed in protest. "Can I taste it?"
Nicole pulled out a second spoon from under the placemat.
From the first spoonful, the warmth of the rice porridge soaked into my bones. It was care in a bowl, and the tears that surged up almost choked me.
"Ellie?" Her voice was as cozy and comforting as the stew.
No, I was tired of crying. "I like the ginger and the citrus in this," I managed.
She smiled. "Exactly. It's got to have the calamansi lime juice in it to make everything else sing. But Nanay swears it's all about the chicken.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I love strawberry ice cream."
I blinked, confused. "Yes, I saw you chugging your In-N-Out milkshakes like you'd spent forty days in the desert. But what does that have to do with feelings?"
He tugged my hand. "No, listen. I mean, I've always ordered it whenever I go to an ice cream store, because I know I like it, even the cheap kind that's like the Ghost of Strawberries Past. Until I met you, I was basically treating my life like strawberry ice cream. I'd found something that I was good at, that I knew worked for me, and just did that, day in, day out. I told myself that this was what it took to be successful, but deep down I was afraid of fucking up, just the same way my parents are terrified of fucking up. I was afraid if I got close to someone, I'd make a mess and disappoint them.
"But now, with you, I want to try the whole ice cream parlor. I want to order, like, a monster sundae with all the crazy flavors I can think of. Blueberry cheesecake and mocha almond fudge and mango sorbet."
It still wasn't adding up. "You want to try new things because of me?"
"I want to be brave," he said earnestly. "To give my all to everything, even though it might not work out." He swallowed hard. "You're so strong, Ellie, and you believe in me. I want to be worthy of that. Worthy of your faith and your strength.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“You're a lioness," I said firmly.
She blinked. "Lioness?"
"Max thought you were a kitten. But you're so much more. Lionesses do all the hunting and care for the cubs, too. The lions are deadbeats compared to them.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I couldn't help the snort that escaped my mouth.
"Oh, you'll pay for laughing at that." When he blew a loud raspberry against my neck, a flicker of something golden and bright shot through me as I scream-laughed.
Joy. I'd missed it.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Sex with you is pretty wonderful. It's like when we work together in the kitchen. We fit each other."
Suddenly, he was on top of me, and I squealed, "Kieran!"
He pressed his nose to mine. "Pretty wonderful, huh? What would it take to make it amazing? Fantastic?"
There was my Puck. Testing and playful and impossibly sexy.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“When he came back from the bathroom, I could only stare. He was exquisite naked. A Greek sculptor would have fallen over himself to capture his torso in marble. In modern terms, if there were thirst accounts for Kieran's forearms, his naked pictures would break the internet.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“It felt like chicken soup when I had a snotty mess of a cold, like a glass of icy apple juice when my body was on fire with fever. I didn't disappear into his embrace like I had in Max's, but he was still strong and comforting and almost like relief. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he found the sweet spot on my back again, rubbing it until I wanted to purr.
But then my skin prickled, and suddenly I genuinely felt feverish. It was only supposed to be a hug with a friend, not me climbing him like a tree.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Floyd hopped up on the loveseat next to me.
"Hi, pal," I said, feeling a little drained. "Your mom should be back soon."
His meow sounded like a whine.
"I know the feeling. But maybe I can help you out?"
When I went to the kitchen and cut up a scallop, he meowed again and went up on his hind legs, begging.
"Did you just twirl?" I said, astonished.
I sat back down on the sofa and put my hand out, and he became a little furry seafood vacuum.
"I didn't know you could purr as you ate. That's kind of amazing."
He headbutted my empty hand, and I took a hint and ran it through his silky fur. I dug my fingertips around his ears and chin, and he closed his eyes and purred even more loudly.
"Such a good boy," I said, feeling a little better. "You like that? Is that, oof!" His big back feet drove the air out of me while he climbed onto my chest. "Jesus, cat, at least buy me a drink first." He ignored my smartass comment and stretched out from my thighs to my shoulders.
"I guess this is me now. Your throne, forever."
Green-gold eyes blinked slowly.
"Are you smiling?"
He rested his head under my chin and sighed.
We hadn't had animals when I was a kid. Too messy, Mom said. Too needy,
Dad said.
But maybe this was the upside of being needed. Quiet, sweet moments like this one. "OK," I told him. "Just for a little bit."

Ellie


Was Kieran crooning? Maybe the wall of the cottage was distorting his voice?
"That feels so good, doesn't it, bud? Such a big, nice cat. Yes, you are."
Yes, he was. He rubbed Floyd's cheeks and my cat melted for him like fluffy butter.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I don't judge other people for doing what they need to do. But you know what sex does? It makes oxytocin. Bonding hormones. Running around your system willy-nilly and making things all warm and fuzzy. Anyone who thinks that they can have sex more than once without catching at least some kind of feelings is delusional, because catching feelings is biology."
I put my hands up. "OK, Einstein, I take your point."
"Einstein wasn't a biologist."
I laughed, all disbelief. "I'm telling you that I want to be naked in your bed, and you're being a smartass?"
She blushed. "Stating facts isn't smartassery. It's pedantry.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“But Ellie's fingertips brushed over my cheekbone, soft as rose petals. Traced my temple, my jawline.
She touched me like I was precious.
No one in my entire life had been gentle with me.
And her lips said, "I'm here" and "Be mine." But wait. She was faking it. We both were. A fake kiss could taste like vanilla milkshakes and prosecco and feel like floating on a cloud.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Her smile was brittle. "Well, I know Kieran's achieving something if someone like you is willing to be in a relationship with him."
"Someone like me?"
She gestured to me from head to toe. "Respectable. Elegantly dressed, if a little flamboyant with color. Beautiful manners, well-spoken. Clearly you listened to your parents when they told you how to behave."
I choked back a snort at the thought of my biological father being Mr. Manners. The sheer audacity of it.
"Kieran probably hasn't told you about all the times we had to get him out of trouble," she continued.
I blinked, confused. "No."
She ticked off on her fingers as she spoke. "He skipped classes, he stole money out of my wallet, he crashed our cars more than once. Not to mention the drinking, my God. He couldn't hold his liquor at all. We were so ashamed."
I held back my eye roll. It was like having a conversation with a steamroller. As she continued to list Kieran's crimes, I realized that she relished this monologue, all the ways he'd done them wrong. Like she never wanted him to grow up because then she'd have to stop being a martyr.
"But anyway, that's all in the past. Finally, he's become who we always wanted him to be, and we can hold our heads up."
The thought of being a source of pride to these snobby, plastic people made me want to drink ten flutes of prosecco, climb onto their dining room table, and do Amy Winehouse karaoke, Diane's advice about polish and presentation be damned. But all I needed to shock them was the truth.
"I haven't seen my father in over twenty years," I began. "As far as I know he's still the lead singer of the second-best hair metal band in Spokane. My mother's salary was for keeping herself in clothes and boyfriends. Sometimes I had to break into my piggy bank so that I could by Cup O' Noodles at 7-Eleven for my brother and me. I've made a good life in spite of my parents, not because of them. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with your son. I knew he was a survivor, too. But thank you for the compliments. Now, if you'll excuse me.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Her voice was as delicate as the rest of her, but I remembered something important from the fantasy novels I'd loved to read as a teenager. Fairy queens weren't always friendly. They could be real bitches, if they thought someone was a threat to their kingdom.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“She made her easy way down the outside steps. "Are you trying to catch flies?" she asked, a laugh in her voice. "You must have seen a woman all made up before."
I closed my mouth. I felt like I'd never seen her before. Silky violet fabric hugged her body like it never wanted to let her go, dipping in at her waist and sweeping out at her hip. It ended just above her knees and made her curvy legs look like they went on forever before they got to her gold flats. When her raspberry-pink mouth curled in a warm smile, she glowed, and it was like a light bulb suddenly lit up in my head. I wasn't horny and restless because I hadn't gotten any in almost ten months.
It was because I wanted her. Only her.
I wanted to bite her lush lower lip, suck the sweet curve where her shoulder met her neck. I wanted to bury my face where her neckline curved down. I wanted to bury my face in a lot of other places, too.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“She was private, and uptight, and a workaholic. But that didn't mean she was frigid. Not with the way she hummed and licked her lips when she bit into a ripe strawberry. Or how she'd stared at my bare stomach that time after my run. Passion flowed under Ellie's surface like a creek under rocks. You couldn't see the water, but if you listened, you would know it was there.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“In the States, the best ones I've ever eaten were at Bedford Street Bakery, in Brooklyn."
"I heard the pastry chef at Qui raving about that place. The woman who runs it is Kiwi, right?"
"Yeah. She bakes these beautiful seasonal pastries. I was there around this time four years ago, and there was one with apricots, crème pâtissière, and toasted almonds, and it was just gorgeous." Her shoulders dropped, and her mouth went slack remembering the pleasure.
I pressed myself back into the hard bench to hold off the wave of horniness that crashed over me. Jesus, Kieran, get a grip. "That was a quality Homer Simpson drooling noise," I said. Jokes were safe. Jokes meant I wasn't turned on.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“You want to give me a makeover?"
I smiled. "Not a makeover." I waved my hand in his direction. "Just something to make you look on the outside the way you are on the inside."
He leaned forward on the counter and grinned widely. "How am I on the inside, Ellie?"
Smart. Talented. Funny. Dashing, to use an old-school-word. But I couldn't tell him any of that. "Not a complete pain in my neck," I said lightly.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I carefully split one of the eggs and put the white into one bowl, the yolk into another. The bright orange yolk would become mayonnaise, and the white would make meringues that we'd top with whipped cream, raspberries, and roasted rhubarb.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“It was like a hand had turned the volume way down on the hum of anxiety that always buzzed in my head. He was all calm competence. He knew what to do, and he'd tell me how in that dark-brown-sugar voice, and I could just be.
I slowly followed his instructions. He leaned in and I got a whiff of white soap and pine forest. "Closer," he said softly. "Cut closer."
He could whisper in my ear, he was that near. His scarred lower lip so close to my skin.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I couldn't repress the sigh of relief at being back here. It was bright and tidy and smelled like oranges. Ellie stood at the sink wearing an old-fashioned sundress, navy blue with red roses, with a deep V that showed her upper back. Brown beauty spots dotted her creamy skin.
What would they taste like?
The grumpy voice I'd had in my head since Brian called lost the attitude and instead started to list reasons why kissing Ellie's neck would be amazing. The dip of her waist would be perfect to rest my hands in. She'd smell like Earl Grey and clean sheets, and taste like salt and citrus. She'd turn in my hold, rest her arms on my shoulders, and her soft blue eyes would flutter closed like they had when she'd tasted that blood orange at the farmers' market.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I felt like I'd been dumped onto a deserted beach. There was the ocean on one side and a dark forest on the other. No map to guide me, no radio for rescue. It was just me, alone, and I had to choose between drowning and walking into the unknown."
He shook his head. "You wouldn't have drowned."
I raised my eyebrows. "No?"
"You would have found a way to make some kind of machete and hacked your way through that forest no matter what. You're tough." He smiled a little. "It's what makes you such a pain in my ass."
I snorted at his crassness, and I felt another emotion sneaking in alongside my respect for his drive and his talent. Liking. I liked this man.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Two weeks into my job at the Pacific, we got these beautiful Page mandarins, and Ximena talked about how much possibility they had in them. You could make a vinaigrette with the juice, or marmalade with the peel, or preserve them in salt, or add sugar, eggs, and butter and turn them into custard for a tart. That's when I realized there wasn't only one right way to treat an ingredient; there were many. I'd spent my entire life never getting anything right, and now I could just follow my senses, my gut instincts, and made something delicious that people liked."
I'd listened to him tell stories about his cooking history, but now he sounded different. Less glib, more earnest. "That's why you like citrus so much," I realized aloud. "Not just because of how it wakes up food.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Once my plate landed on the table, I couldn't help eating the hash like I was starving. He'd added a little sautéed garlic and parsley at the end, and the fragrance against the crispy potatoes made me hum with happiness.
I was about to pick up my plate and his to wash them when he said, "I could make amazing fries if you wanted."
I shook my head. "They wouldn't work for the book. People think deep-frying at home is incredibly messy, and the low-fat and low-carb lobbies finished the job."
He laced his fingers behind behind his head. "That's a shame. But I didn't mean for the book."
I stared at him. "You'd make fries just for me?"
His cheeks went a little pink.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“He dug his thumbnail into the blushing peel and pulled until the dark red fruit appeared, spraying citrus oil everywhere. As he pulled the fruit into its sections, it glowed like rubies. It made the fruit I'd bought at the supermarket for our ill-fated experiment look dry and stale in comparison.
"Why do you have to show me now?"
I stopped cold, because he'd grabbed my chin. His fingers were soft, insistent.
"Because I want to. Open," he said. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Determination?
When I gaped at him, he popped the orange segment in my mouth.
I bit down, and my eyes fluttered shut. Sweet-sour fireworks exploded across my tongue, and I couldn't help but moan a little bit. I tasted orange, of course, but there were raspberries and a little bit of rose petal, too.
"That's incredible," I said once I'd swallowed. "Like eating a sunset."
When I opened my eyes, he was staring at my mouth. I felt fireworks again, this time in my stomach. But a second later, he smiled big and said, "I was going to say a party in my mouth, but I guess that's why you're the writer.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Speckled brown eggs that the farmer promised had been laid just that morning, two dark loaves of sourdough that crackled when I squeezed them gently. Meaty bacon from happy pigs, a chunk of salmon glowing coral and smelling like the sea. Little waxy potatoes firm to my touch, dirt-skinned onions, bouquets of fresh herbs. As I inhaled the scent of a bunch of rosemary, hot dusty summer captured in its needles, I felt my worries loosen their grip on me for a second, pleasure taking their place.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Her hair was so silky, and up close I could see all the streaks of champagne and wheat and caramel that made it blond. It smelled like clean laundry and citrus. Not lemon, but something greener.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Maybe she hadn't worked in a restaurant, but anyone who made their cookbooks look like that must have known something.
I flipped through a few others. Thai salads, meringue-topped cakes, Carolina barbecue. Then on the bottom shelves, I found a row of cheap black-and-white speckled notebooks. They didn't fit the grown-up vibe of the rest of the room. Everyone has a soft spot, Jay had said. I reached for one.
"Cooking Notes," it said in sparkly green pen on the cover. The handwriting was rounder. A kid's.
"October 25," I read slowly, trailing my finger along the page.

Fish sticks. Cook at 400F for two minutes longer than the box says. Hank likes one tablespoon ketchup and one tablespoon yellow mustard mixed together. Mom likes one tablespoon mayonnaise with juice of a quarter of a lemon and one teaspoon Tabasco.

Hank's waffles. Toast Eggos on medium, put on butter and maple syrup, then microwave for ten seconds to melt everything together.


I flicked through a year of little Ellie's cooking. A lot of it was her trying to dress up convenience food--- pancakes, ramen. Toward the end of the notebook, she'd started to try random scratch recipes. Ground Turkey Tacos had lots of stars and fireworks drawn around it, while another for zucchini omelets only had "Yuck.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn