“Screw you, John."
"Sorry, Sylvie. Can't—they frown on that kind of thing between step-siblings.”
“She was the only creature in the world who would really care if something happened to me, even if it was only because I was the bringer of kibble.”
“Long-haired Chihuahuas have no notion they are bite-sized.”
“He rose to his feet in one fluid move, the better to look down at me. “You don’t know me, princess.
Some people have reasons for doing things, and don’t just go wherever they’re told or drift whichever
way they’re pushed.”
“i should take my dog for a walk now. i can only handle one bitch at a time”
“I’d seen the banner over Main Street announcing the festival, but I hadn’t known what to expect. I had a bit of a clue as Shawn drove past cars and pickups parked two deep on the town’s side streets and in the lots of stores that appeared to be closed for the day. “Where did all these people come from?” I asked. Gigi stood on my lap, her paws on the window, just as fascinated, but less flabbergasted. Shawn slid me a smile as we pulled into a private parking lot right before the barricades across Main Street.”
“Since I was in church anyway, I thanked God that Addie had spent the night with Kimberley, and was not around to witness the Incredible River Disaster and its aftermath. The morning was difficult enough with only the regular amount of speculation and staring. The antique pews were not very comfortable. Davis backsides had suffered the same wooden torture for generations, and I wondered if it was any easier with voluminous skirts and petticoats.”
“When Gigi woke me in the morning, my first thought wasn’t about magic, or about Rhys or Shawn, or how much my romantic troubles were tied up in the mysteries of Bluestone Hill, or what that had to do with the ghosts, if anything. It was about my garden.”
“Oh my God.” I fell into my usual chair, stunned—but also not—that the news had made the rounds so quickly. “You mean it didn’t even take an hour for it to get back here?”
“Josh grins. It’s wide and relieved and reveals a rarely seen pair of dimples. I could live inside those dimples for the rest of my life.”
“I get tired of hearing it's a crummy world and that people are no damned good. What kind of talk is that? I know a place in Payette, Idaho, where a cook and a waitress and a manager put everything they've got into laying a chicken-fried steak on you.”
“History does not care about the suffering of the individual. Only the outcome of their struggles.”
“I want pancakes.”
“What? Right now?”
“No. For breakfast.”
“Oh.” He yawned. “You’d better get up early then.”
“Me? I’m not going to make them.”
“Yeah?” His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. “Who’s going to make them for you then?”
“Am I? You think I’m going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it’s going to be?"
"You’re so good at,” I whined. “Besides, if you do, I’ll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook.”
His soft laughter segued into another yawn. “Oh. Well then.” He kissed my ear again. “Maybe I’ll make you pancakes.”
“I remember arguing that moral greatness had little meaning without action to effect the moral end.”
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