“Angela says that angel-bloods are supposed to be immune to cold. It helps with the flying at high altitudes, I guess." I shiver again. "I must not have gotten the memo." He smiles. "Maybe that power only applies to mature angel-bloods." "Hey, are you calling me immature?" "Oh no," he says, his smile blossoming into a full-blown grin. "I wouldn't dare." "Good. Because I'm not the one peeping into someone else's window.”

“I'm tired of this 'we better lay low, or someone will figure out we're different' crap. I mean, it's not like if I win a match people are going to say, who's that kid, he's a really good wrestler, he must be an angel.”

“I wonder if the prayers of angel-bloods count more than regular people's.”

“Tucker," I say. "I'm so glad you're still here."I throw myself into his arms. He hugs me tightly."I couldn't leave," he says."I know.""I mean, literally. I don't have a ride.”

“You think I'm pretty?" I ask. "We need to stop talking," he says a little gruffly. "We're scaring the fish off." "Okay, okay." I bite my lip, then smile.”

“Think about a good memory, she whispers in my mind. Remember a moment when you loved him. And just like that, I do. "What did the fish say when it hit a concrete wall?" he asked me. We're sitting on the bank of a stream and he's tying a fly onto my fishing rod, wearing a cowboy hat and red lumberjack-style flannel shirt over a gray tee. So adorable. "What?" I say, he grins. Unbelievable of how gorgeous he is. And that he's mine. He loves me and I love him. "Dam!" he says.”

“What were you supposed to do?" he asks in an amused voice."Save you. Only I wasn't actually supposed to do that, was I?""That's the hardest part," he says. " The absence of certainty.”