Summer in the City

I didn’t fall in love with a version of you, Elle,” he says. “I fell in love with every you.

I bought the coffee shop because you love it. I bought it so that you can have your favorite scone, with your favorite latte, at your favorite table, every morning.” He leans forward. “I bought it because it makes you happy, and that, to me, Elle, is priceless.

The best gift I can give either of you is the freedom to live your life exactly the way you want to. Don’t let anyone ever take that away from you.

Do all books have maps?” he asks. “No,” I say. “Only the best ones.

There are moments in life, I think, that make you grateful you didn’t just stay in your room.

Life might be complicated, but love isn’t. It’s pretty straightforward. It’s a lance through plans, and morals, and pride. It cuts right through everything. It doesn’t care about the mess it makes. It hurts, and we let it.

It’s interesting how love colors things I would normally hate into my absolute favorite shade.

I hold grudges like security blankets. I treat everyone I meet like a thief, someone who will inevitably betray me if I'm dumb enough to let them inside my house. I resist change, like if I sit solidly in place and keep everything around me very still, nothing new will come through the net I've cast around my little life, and that means nothing can hurt me. Not anymore. Not ever again.

For the first time in a while, I’m living life instead of just writing about it.

She locked herself like a prison, like it could keep the hurt from spilling out. Like being strong meant being unfeeling. Like being smart meant being alone.

She told me some generations are for working, so the next can dream.

He's repeating my own words back to me. Something in my chest tightens. He remembers everything, I think. Like every word that comes out of my mouth is a script to be pored over and annotated.

But I don’t live my life for other people. I live it for me. The chatter doesn’t really matter.

You know better than anyone that disturbing behavior is only really disturbing—” “If you don’t think the guy is attractive. I know, I know. Like Edward watching Bella sleep in Twilight.

I’ve sold eight screenplays to studios, asshole. Of course I have a lawyer.

One day, I woke up, and there was a little city built around me. I’m no longer a deserted island.

I go to bed wondering how I let my life get so boring—and when I started noticing.

It’s almost as if men see a woman who has decided to dress up and immediately think she’s dressed up for them.

Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure he’s not a serial killer?” “He’s not a serial killer. He’s just committed.” “Um . . .

You can’t buy me, Parker,” I say. “You can’t buy my happiness. And if you think you can, then you don’t know me at all.

He kisses me until my head empties of all the reasons we can’t do this

I just want,” he says

In New York City, every weekend is a chance to live in a movie.

Parker’s hands slowly slide down my spine. I try to ignore the heat that races to meet every place he touches. I’m sweaty. We just played. That’s all this is.

I suck in my breath like I’ve been sucker punched

He thought he could buy my affection then

bought the coffee shop because you love it. I bought it so that you can have your favorite scone

Not that she ever cared enough to do a quick Google search to find out that I