“Oh her deathbed, when her hands could no longer weave or paint or mold clay, she'd told stories and filled them with the colors she loved.”

“She absorbed the terror and beauty of him and his world. Of every moment over the past days. All of it, filling her up like the first breath she'd ever taken. And never had she loved life more.”

“Liv or love?" she asks. I brush her hair away from her neck and rest my hand there, feeling the beating of her pulse. "Either," I answer. "They're the same to me.”

“She had no illusions of becoming a master knife fighter. This wasn't the Realms, where a thought delivered result. But she also knew she'd giver herself a better chance. And in life, at least in her new life, chances were the best she could hope for. They were like her rocks. Imperfect& surprising & maybe better in the long run than certainties. Chances, she thought, were life.”

“She could look at him forever. She could spend her life watching him just blink and breathe that near to her.”

“Perry's hand settled on her hip, his grip firm. She felt his kiss settle intosomething deeper as his mouth moved with more urgency over hers. Suddenly there wasmore heat between them...”

“He kissed her slowly. Everything went slowly so he could follow her temper, and search into her eyes. When they joined, her scent was brave and strong and certain. Perry took it into himself, breathing her breath, feeling what she felt. He'd never known anything as right.”