“It wasn't until after we were pulling into the back lot of Station One that I remembered asking Hank if he wanted to have coffee and talk.Crap.I slid a quick glance his way to find him staring out the window. His expression reminded me of a conversation I had with Emma when she was six years old and I found her sitting with her knees drawn up on the back of the couch, staring out the window."Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?""I'm looking out the window.""Why?""Because that's what people do when they're sad. They stare out the window.”

“I relaxed back into the mattress as other elements in the room began to filter though my senses, namely the extraordinary warmth at my back. The air was filled with the smell of masculine skin and hints of cologne, soap, and dryer sheets.Hank was back. And his scent wasn't the only thing surrounding me; his arm was thrown over my hip and my back was tucked nicely against his front. ...It was nice. Good. Right, even. And then another feeling struck me in a novel way. Protected. I felt protected. A disbelieving laugh bubbled in my throat as I lay there, a small smile parked on my face.I was always the one out there protecting people. And after Will and I had split, I'd had no one to go to for comfort, to let all my guards down, to take a rest from being the caregiver, provider, guard, and detective. To let someone else be tough for a while. Had to admit, I liked it. And I never thought in a gazillion years I'd find this feeling with an off-worlder. I liked Hank's strength, his power, his quirky humor, even the badass attitude he caught sometimes.I was in so much trouble.”

“You ever see anything like that before?” I asked Rex as we walked.“Those old fairy dudes? Nuh-uh. And now that I think about it, I’ve never seen a Pig-Pen do that much damage.”I meant the creature.What creature?What do you mean, what creature? The one that came out of the wind. The one that went through me. The reason I was out cold on the dance floor.”I thought you just couldn’t handle the Donna Summer remix.”

“People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.”

“In the old days, writers used to sit in front of a typewriter and stare out of the window. Nowadays, because of the marvels of convergent technology, the thing you type on and the window you stare out of are now the same thing.”

“My favorite pastime is staring out the window. When I go on tour, I can spend hours and hours just staring out the window, thinking about nothing. I love all that.”

“Bryn’s back was to me, auburn hair pulled up in the usual sloppy-romantic twist. Soft murmurs came from her as she gently pruned dead leaves from a strange green plant.“They’re never going to talk back. You know that, right?”She turned, suppressing her smile. “Shows how little you know about earth crafting. They always talk back.”