“Abby could smell his hot breath in her face. It reeked like dead apples left to rot in the scorching summer sun.”

“You don’t have to go to church and sit in a pew to find faith. Look into the eyes of a newborn baby or watch a sunset. Listen to children laughing. Like when a dog licks your palm or when you can smell the rain steaming the asphalt on a hot summer day. There is God. . .there is love, and there is evidence of your faith. Live, breathe, love. . .the rest will come easily.”

“Rot dead marigolds- an acre at a time! Gold are you?”

“I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip...”

“Hi, I’m Jude Ryder Jamieson,” he began, extending his hand. I took it, shaking it. He held onto it when I tried to pull it back. “My mom left when I was thirteen. My dad’s serving a life sentence for killing a young kid. I spent the last five years in a boys’ home being bullied, beat, and abused by the kids, the staff, and even the goddamn dog. I sold drugs. I did drugs. I got arrested. A lot. I screwed a lot of faceless women.” He paused, sucking in a breath. “And then I met one whose face I couldn’t forget. I fell in love with her. I hurt her because I fell in love with her and was afraid she was going to leave me the way everyone else had.” He lifted his other hand, cradling mine between his. “I still love her.”

“she kissed as if she, alone, could forge the signature of the sun”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” The fire gone from his eyes, his mouth pulled up into my favorite smile—that mischievous, I-don’t-have-a-clue-how-hot-I-am-when-I-smile-like-this-which-makes-it-that-much-hotter smile.”