“(Nicholas)"Am I dead?"An odd question, but then she rememberd her mourning attire. "No sir, you are not."He relaxed a moment, then turned his head slightly as if searching for other passengers. His brows dived in a scowl.Am I married?"She wasn't sure how to answer. His kid gloves hid any evidence of his matrimonial state, but his expression of instantaneous alarm and regret suggested he was referring specifically to her. No sir, we are not.”

“She realised she was whimpering. Sir held her closer, his hard grip reassuring. This wasn't a dream; he really was here.”

“She grabbed her clutch bag and circled her arms around his neck. "Caulder McCutchen, I'm really not sure what you are."He lifted his head and looked down at her, squinted. "I'm a man. Enough said?"Velia smiled and looped her arm through his. "Yes, sir. Shall we go?”

“Hey, manager... Some kid must have left his glove here... It has his name on it... See? Right here... Willie Mays... He wrote his name on his glove, see? Poor kid... He's probably been looking all over for it... We should have a lost and found. I don't know any kid around here named Willie Mays, do you? How are we gonna get it back to him? He was pretty smart putting his name on his glove this way, though... It's funny, I just don't remember any kid by that name...""Look at your own glove.""What?""Look at your own glove... There's a name on it...""Babe Ruth... Well, I'll be! How in the world do you suppose I got her glove?!”

“Air swirled over her shoulders leaving a wake of chilled skin. To her left something stirred in the shadows. She blinked. The swordsman stood by the fire, as clear and solid as day. Her heart thundered in her ears so loud he must surely hear. She started to sit up, then remembered her naked state. Water sloshed in the tub. "I beg your pardon."He inclined his head. Steam from the water swirled, but Olivia saw his dark hair. He was tall and wore a tunic worked with red and gold. A leather strap crossed from right shoulder to left waist and held the scabbard fastened across his back. A jeweled belt circled his waist. His eyes matched the blue of the sky. The way he stood struck her as familiar. She closed her eyes. He was still there when she opened them again. "I am not mad," she said. "Is that you? Edith?"Even with the distance between them and the mist swirling in the air, she saw his blue eyes, the arrogant set to his shoulders that came of years of wealth and breeding. His grin sent a flare of alarm up her spine. He took a step toward her, and for one dreadful moment, she was convinced he was as real as she was. He tipped his head and spread his arms wide, as if to prove himself harmless. "Go away." She wasn't afraid of him precisely. She was afraid of being mad. "Please, just go away."He shook his head."I am not mad," she whispered.He shook his head again. "I wish you were real.”

“He stepped close to her; she could feel his breath on her neck. “Eve, you make me not want to die.”She turned to see his face. “I didn’t want to be this, and now it’s all I am.”He put his hands on her cheeks. The look on his face did her in. He was kind, caring, and mourning her losses. Tears wet his cheeks. Eve felt a very deep sob choke her. If he was mourning, so could she.He pulled her into his arms. “Cry. It’s okay. Cry.”Eve felt her knees give. He caught her and carried her to his couch. He petted her hair and let her empty her pain and guilt onto his chest. He kissed the top of her head. For the first time, his actions toward her seemed to have no sexual intent whatsoever.Eve let go of a rope she’d clung to for too long. And she fell. She fell right into him. Wrong or right, she gave up judging. Her lips found his, and he kissed her gently, not demanding any more than she was willing to offer.”