“The more this guy talked, the more he sounded like a fortune cookie.”

“Why couldn't she just come out and say she liked him?Maybe it was because she more than liked him.”

“As much as he was different from other guys, he still had that stupid male pride thing.”

“She glanced down at the contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. "Sloppy Joe," she managed."Hmm," he said, sounding doubtful. "May he rest in peace.”

“Please," she murmured at her burger, her voice no more than a squeaky whisper, "Don't do this.”

“At last he stopped, and she stared down at the printed column of words, unable to comprehend a single one. His hand, warm and steady, wound its way around hers, wrapping it like a spider would its prey. She surrendered it to him, unable to watch even as his thumb traced the place, just above her knuckles, where he had once written his number in deep violet. Isobel ceased to breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts shattering into senseless fragments. All the while, her eyes remained trained and unblinking on the open page. Lines without meaning stared up at her, little more than black sticks in an otherwise white world.”

“To Madeline, This subtle second selfSheaf of meCan do more than you ever could.Like you, it can leaveAnd goSomewhere else.The night splits me in two.I disconnect —To sink, to fall, to flyAnd rageForeverAnd alwaysWithout you”