Frederick. Freddie. Fred. My man. Come on. If you’re gonna  “hire” someone to help you fit into the twenty-first century because you’ve been in a coma for 100 years (and you really genuinely need the help), why are you acting like it’s being done with a gun to your head? Every interaction is like PULLING TEETH: ordering coffee, social media, new clothes, WiFi. You adapt, eventually. I’ll give you that, but seriously I thought my eyes were gonna roll out of my head.

Cassie. Babe. A little self confidence, please. I beg you 🙏🏼 “Woe is me. I’m not good enough, or pretty enough, or smart enough”. You’re 30 some odd years old, and you’ve made some questionable life decisions, sure. But you’re doing what you love, and you have friends that support you you. Stop, I can’t listen to you. Granted, there is some self actualization by the end, but it’s minimal at best. So does that count?

This book would’ve been easier to read if it had the forced proximity tension I was hoping for, but it lacked.

Honorable Mention Quotes:

“You have never met anyone like me, Miss Greenberg,” he said, sounding almost sad about it, before turning and walking out of my bedroom.”(Because is it really a vampire book without it 👌🏼)

“Dear Diary,
Oh, gods.
Is it possible for a person like me to die from shame?” (ICONIC. Fred did have some bangers)