“Tucker strokes my hair. There's something so tender about the gesture. It might as well have been him whispering I love you.”

“Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the lose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.”

“You do know we're officially the talk of the town," I say to Tucker. He might as well have taken a marker to my forehead and written PROPERTY OF TUCKER in big black letters.His eyebrows lift. "Do you mind?"I reach for his hand and lace his fingers with mine. "Nope."I'm with Tucker. In spite of my failed purpose and everything, it looks like I'm actually going to get to keep him. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.”

“It’s fine, Mom, really.” She’s tucking me into my bed, asking me how my back feels for the one hundredth time in the ten minutes that I’ve been home. She smiles and strokes my hair. That’s what I’m going to miss the most about her. The way she strokes my hair and looks at me with so much love in her eyes.”

“His hand rested on my hair, and without knowing quite how it happened, I found myself curled against him, my head just fitting in the hollow of his shoulder.For so many years," he said, "for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men." I felt him swallow, and he shifted slightly, the linen of his nightshirt rustling with starch.I was Uncle to Jenny's children, and Brother to her and Ian. 'Milord' to Fergus, and 'Sir' to my tenants. 'Mac Dubh' to the men of Ardsmuir and 'MacKenzie' to the other servants at Helwater. 'Malcolm the printer,' then, and 'Jamie Roy' at the docks." The hand stroked my hair, slowly, with a whispering sound like the wind outside. "But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you...I have no name.”

“But Tucker is my choice. I love him. That isn't going to go away.”