“As worried as I was that you’d never speak to me again…I think it’s worse that you’re indifferent.”

“I don’t care about the money, Pidge. I was afraid you’d leave and never speak to me again.”

“You made plenty, Abby. We just wanted to tide ourselves over until next year…unless you’d like to do this all over again at Christmas. You’re a Maddox, now. I expect you at every holiday, and not to cook.”

“Travis walked in and shut the door behind him. “I was mad. I heard you spitting out everything that’s wrong with me to America and it pissed me off. I just meant to go out and have a few drinks and try to figure some things out, but before I knew it, I was piss drunk and those girls…,” he paused. “I woke up this morning and you weren’t in bed, and when I found you on the recliner and saw the wrappers on the floor, I felt sick.”“You could have just asked me instead of spending all that money at the grocery store just to bribe me to stay.”“I don’t care about the money, Pidge. I was afraid you’d leave and never speak to me again.”

“The way I feel about you . . . it’s crazy.”“You got the crazy part right,” she snapped, pulling away from me.“I practiced this in my head the whole time we were on the bike, so just hear me out.”“Travis—”“I know we’re fucked-up, all right? I’m impulsive and hot tempered, and you get under my skin like no one else. You act like you hate me one minute, and then you need me the next. I never get anything right, and I don’t deserve you . . . but I fucking love you, Abby. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone or anything, ever. When you’re around, I don’t need booze or money or the fighting or the one-night stands . . . all I need is you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I dream about. You’re all I want.”

“First of all . . . I have standards. I’ve never been with an ugly woman.Ever. Second of all, I wanted to sleep with you. I thought about throwing you over my couch fifty different ways, but I haven’t because I don’t see you that way anymore. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, I just think you’re better than that.”

“You’re going to make me dance to this, aren’t you?” he asked.“It’s Valentine’s Day, Finch. Pretend I’m a boy.”He laughed, pulling me into his arms. “It’s hard to do that when you’re wearing a short pink dress.”“Whatever. Like you’ve never seen a boy in a dress.”Finch shrugged. “True.”