“Are you going to kiss me?" I blabbered stupidly."I'm working up the nerve," he said softly.”

“Why do you even put up with me?''I'm not putting up with you,' he said, softly. 'I'm loving you.”

“Just so you know Gallagher Girl,' he whispered softly, 'I'm going to kiss you now.”

“He's kissing me like he's lost me and he's found me and I'm slipping away and he's never going to let me go. I want to scream, sometimes, I want to collapse, sometimes, I want to die knowing that I've known what it was like to live with this kiss, this heart, this soft soft explosion that makes me feel like I've taken a sip of the sun, like I've eaten clouds 8,9, and 10.”

“I have a very dear friend, a great painter, called me up very upset, the work wasn’t going well… He asked me to come to his studio -- which I did -- I looked around at the work, dozens of sketches, drawings, large pictures, and I was very close to his work, intensely involved with his work, and he asked me, ‘What’s wrong?’ And I said, ‘Simple – it’s a loss of nerve.”

“Was it worth it?” he asked me, breaking the silence.“Was what worth it?” I asked, looking up at him.“Taking a chance with me,” he said softly, kissing the top of my head. “Not thinking, going with your gut?”“It was the best chance I’ve ever taken,” I said, snuggling closer to him and breathing in his familiar scent.”