“When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to hear '27 months.' 'He's two' will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place.”

“Fine," he repeated, and I wondered why it was I kept coming back to this, again and again, a word that you said when someone asked how you were but didn't really care to know the truth.”

“Fine...a word that you said when someone asked how you were but didn't really care to know the truth.”

“I just don't see the point of not eating cheese. I mean, if God didn't want us to eat cheese, would he have let man invent it?”

“You still trying to save me, Mallory?" Ty asked quietly.Her heart was hammering so loud she couldn't hear herself talk. "I can't seem to help myself.""I don't need saving."No. No, he sure didn't. He was strong and capable, and more than able to take care of himself. "What do you need?""You," he said simply. "Only you.”

“What happened to your face?' he asked. 'When I was little, my grandmother was making candles and she had a big vat of hot beeswax in the backyard,' she said. 'I walked into the vat.' Usually that ended the conversation. 'I don't remember it,' she added. 'How old were you?' he asked. She tilted her face slightly, watching him. 'Ten months.' 'You were walking at ten months?' he asked. 'Not very well, apparently,' she said dryly.”