“You will like her," he persisted. "Egad, she's after your own heart, maman! She shot me in the arm.""Voyons, do you think that is what I like?”

“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked suddenly and pathetically, just like a small child. Sergei did not look at her but merely said, “What makes you think that?” “It is normal to try to make conversation while in the car with someone, isn’t it?” “Oh, well, my English is only average,” he lied. “Maybe, but I speak Russian,” she persisted Sergei grunted. “What, your Russian is only average too?” she said, raising an eyebrow.”

“Then she probably would have waved back," Max said. "And it might be a he.""Ha! Not likely," Lucia said. "Didn't you notice them?""Them what?" Max asked."Her... you know. She has breasts, Max! What do you think that is on her chest?""I think it's a pair of crossed arms," Max said.”

“You didn't think I really liked you? Do you think I really like you now?"He turned toward her, uncertainty in his face."You did go quite a lot of effort to be having this conversation, but... I don't want to read too much of what I hope into that."Val stretched out beside him, resting her head in the crook of his arm. "What do you hope?"He pulled her close, hands careful not to touch her wounds as they wrapped around her. "I hope that you feel for me as I do for you," he said, his voice like a sigh against her throat.And how is that?" she asked, her lips so close to his jaw that she could taste the salt of his skin when she moved them.You carried my heart in your hands tonight," he said. "But I have felt as if you carried it long before that."She smiled and let her eyes drift closed. They lay there together, under the bridge, city lights burning outside the windows like a sky full of falling stars, as they slid off into sleep”

“He said someday I would come home and regret ever leaving."She murmured something, perhaps her own remembrance of a place lost. "Do you?" she said after some time."Yes . . . I mean to say, no," he corrected. "Oh, bother, I don't know.""Don't fret over it. You can't get back the time you've lived, and all you have is what is before you," she said sagely."Egads, I find myself betrothed to a bluestocking," he teased. "Who was that, Aristotle?"She laughed. "No, Aunt Bedelia.”

“You know, typically a nickname is shorter than the given name.”“Is it?” he asked in mock seriousness. “Oh. Well, tell you what, you can call me…”She waited several beats, thinking of more than a few unkind examples. “I can call you what?” she finally asked.“That’s it.” He shot her his bone-melting smile. “You can just call me. Anytime.”She rolled her eyes, refusing to give in to the smile that threatened. “That sounds like a line from one of your movies.”He shot her a triumphant look. “Ah, ha! I knew you were a fan.”