"And I've been waiting," Joe said. "For him to look at me like I looked at him. And he finally did. He finally did. And I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it stays like that. Because I want him for always."

"Quick," she said as she walked by me into the house. "Look up rabbit recipes on the Internet before you go to work."
"You're dripping on the floor!"
"It's just a dead rabbit, Ox. You sound hysterical."
"I sound hygienic."
I wasn't very good with Internet stuff, so I googled "what to do when your future werewolf mate/boyfriend/best friend courts you and brings you a dead rabbit."
First, there was a lot of porn.
Then I found a recipe for Maltese rabbit stew.
It was delicious.
The stew, not the porn.
The porn was weird.

"You're not broken."
He said, "You don't know that."
I said, "I do. You're alive. If you can take another breath, if you can take another step, then you're not broken. Battered, maybe. Bruised. Cracked. But never broken."

Someone told me once that the light we see from them is hundreds of thousands of years old. That the star could already be dead and we'd never know it because it still looked alive. I thought that was a terrible thing. That the stars could lie.

He said, "It's you. I would always choose you. I don't care if it's a biological imperative. I don't care if it's some destiny. I don't care if you were made specifically for me. It doesn't matter. Because I would choose you regardless."

But hearts are funny things: they beat strongly in our chests, even though they can shatter at the slightest pressure.