“Mr. Ryan was going to have my ass. I was twenty minutes late. As I experienced this morning, he hated late. "Late" was a word not found in the Bennett Ryan Dickhead Dictionary. Along with "heart," "kindness," "compassion," "lunch break," or "thank you.”

“I am running a bit late. But all right, if I’m going to be late, I should be at least thirty minutes late. There’s something small-minded about running just five minutes late, don’t you think?”

“Twenty times in the course of my late reading have I been on the point of breaking out, 'This would be the best of all possible worlds, if there were no religion in it!!!”

“Too late, too late, juice pouring does not a kind soul make, and I killed you.”

“You are thirty minutes late.""Yes.""Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral?""No.""Why not, pray tell?""Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.”

“Calm?” I screeched. “Calm? Ryan, I nearly killed you! How could I possibly be calm?” Ryan studied my face for a minute and then rolled his eyes.His smile turned to a frown. “You’re not going to let me kiss you ever again, are you?” It wasn’t really a question.“And you say you’re not that smart.”