“Led Zeppelin! I clapped my hand over my mouth.This big, strong man, wearing a muscle shirt and cargo pants, sang rock songs to a toddler in the middle of the night. I was so toast. Game over. And it was doubly terrifying, considering I had no idea how to make him stick around. He would leave and take his sweetness and his Pepto and our hearts.”

“Are you hurting anywhere else?" I asked, feeling so emotionally raw after the long night we'd had. He caught my wrist and pulled my hand down to press flat over his heart. "Here." "So am I." He kissed my fingertips, then linked our hands and led me...”

“My father had put these things on the table.I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed.I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle's money. To telling him I was leaving. And I was so ashamed.”

“He slipped his hands around my waist and pulled me against him, tossing the ice cream cone over his shoulder. It landed with a splat on the sidewalk. "So does that mean I have a varsity girlfriend?"I giggled like a total girl and linked my hands behind his neck. "Yeah I guess it does.""Sweet." Then he bent his head, and I stood up on my tiptoes and we met in the middle. And it was perfect.”

“XII sang his name instead of song;Over and over I sang his name:Backward and forward I sang it along,With my sweetest notes, it was still the same!I sang it low, that the slave-girls nearMight never guess, from what they could hear,That all the song was a name.”

“Gently, I ran my hand across his chest, exploring it. My breath felt tight in my throat. He was so beautiful. His muscles were toned, defined, his skin warm and smooth. Stroking my palm up over the line of his collarbone, I felt the firmness of his shoulder, the strength of his bicep. I traced my fingers over the black AK, following the lines of the letters. Alex hardly moved as I touched him, his eyes never leaving me.Finally I sighed and dropped my hand. I tried to smile. "I've sort of been wanting to do that ever since that first night in the motel room," I admitted.”