“. . . there was nothing yet to fear, and so he passed it off as joy, as heart-pounding, pulse-quaking joy. Not as a premonition. Not as the moment to grab her hand and turn and run.”

“For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered, “Run run run run run,” and took off, pulling me behind her.”

“Those joys were so small that they passed unnoticed, like gold in sand, and at bad moments she could see nothing but the pain, nothing but sand; but there were good moments too when she saw nothing but the joy, nothing but gold.”

“These joys were so trifling as to be as imperceptible as grains of gold among the sand, and in moments of depression she saw nothing but the sand; yet there were brighter moments when she felt nothing but joy, saw nothing but the gold.”

“Grabbing her hand, he pressed it gently to his chest. His skin was warm to the touch, and she could slightly feel his pulse pounding against her palm.“Do you feel that? I’m not going anywhere, Haven. This is yours.”

“Aye,” he smiles, joy igniting in his stormy gray eyes, stroking my hand possessively as if unwilling to let me go for fear I am nothing more than a hallucination about to wear off.”