“It didn't matter to her whether she'd written anything brilliant. It just felt good to be able to write again.”

“It didn't matter if Aria was hundreds of miles away, or whether she'd hurt him, or said goodbye, or anything else. Nothing would change the way he felt. The moment Aria had taken his hand on the roof at Marron's, she'd changed everything. No matter what happened, she'd always be the one.”

“The lift of her heart she'd felt on the outcrop she now felt again, and it wasn't just love. She'd felt love before, known its depths when her mother died.This was something rarer. Happiness, Laurel thought, that must be what this is.”

“She'd filled twelve notebooks and still she hadn't stopped. Indeed, the more she wrote, the louder the stories seemed to grow, swirling in her mind, pressing against her head, anxious for release. She didn't know whether they were any good and in truth she didn't care. They were hers, and writing made them real somehow.”

“But quitting didn't change what she'd already done. The piece of her past that she'd never be able to outrun.”

“What Alex was able to do to her, the way he made her feel was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before and she knew she'd never be able to get enough of him. He was her drug, her high, and she was addicted without any desire to find a cure.”