Ashley Herring Blake

“It’s a storm in a teacup,” Delilah said.

Ruby furrowed her brow. “Huh?”

Delilah laughed. “It’s an old phrase. It means . . . making a big deal out of something small. I got it to remind myself to have some perspective. That, most times, things aren’t as devastating as they might feel at first.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re a nice person. Nice people ask questions sometimes just because they think they should, not because they really give a shit.”

how much the art you did as a kid—whether it be drawings or photographs or songs—felt like spilling the contents of your heart out into the world. Hell, it still felt like that as a grown-up

My chest hurt too, like it always does when I do something I know isn’t right, like I can’t breathe the right way or something.

what the hell did I really want if it wasn’t him?

what the hell did I really want if it wasn’t him?

“Like you’d follow her to the moon.”

Instead, she leaned against one of the tall pines that bordered the bank—god, this woman was always leaning on things—and watched Spencer laugh with his friends.

She just felt fucking lonely.

And now Claire was telling Astrid how she needed her so she wouldn’t screw her ex on a camping trip.

Delilah had on a pair of hot pink lace cheekies, because of course she did.