A city full of eight million people. It was all rather lonely sometimes.

I have something I need to get off my chest.”“What’s that?”“This.” He closed his mouth over hers.

At least that left hope for him. Except "Beauty and the Geek" wasn’t exactly the proper translation of the popular fairy tale.

Maybe pulling her emotions out and inserting in his logic would change this morbid course. But damn if he’d joke about it like she did.

This was sharing office space with wacko and bordering on ludicrous.

I'd have your back off-site too, if you'd let me." ~Cain, Ghost of You

She had yet to actually call him by his real name. The psychologist in him had all kinds of theories as to why. The man in him wanted to hear her say it. Just once.

It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.

Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.

Considering I'm a writer, you leave me strangely bereft of words.

Maybe he was going to hell. Except, he could’ve sworn that was where he’d been the past ten years.

Yes, best friend of mine. I am the famous photographer you've admired for years, and the man who's admired you.

He slid the photo out and raised it. The sun washed out any distinguishable characteristics. All except her eyes. He didn’t need a picture to remember those. As turquoise as the waters near Cozumel, and just as warm.

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was going out with a rifle in his hand.

She knew her place in this family, always had. Knew why she was conceived. And it wasn't for a photo on the mantle.