Cash leaned forward against her hand and Harper met him halfway. The kiss was powerful and demanding. Harper wrapped her arms around Cash, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. The kiss was more aggressive than either of them meant it to be, and, when they pulled apart, they were both breathing fast, like they had sprinted toward each other. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” Cash said, out of breath.”Eight years,” Harper murmured. “My whole life,” Cash corrected, leaning in again.

— Summer Hines

Cash looked at her, square in the eye, and his jaw twitched. She flinched, then braced herself. For what, she wasn’t sure, but just being near him made her feel like she was made of glass. Like anything he said would break her.“I came to see you.” Anything except that.

— Summer Hines

He cupped his hand around her cheek, and she marveled at how perfectly his palm fit her cheek. His fingers in her hair, she waited, maybe for an eternity, for his lips to meet hers. When they did, it was like being inside an exploding star. Time and space became irrelevant. She slipped her arms under his, clinging to him, his body the only thing stopping her from drifting away, untethered in space. His hand on her back slipped under layers of clothes, finding her skin. He pulled her close, and she leaned into him, feeling like she could never be close enough to him.

— Summer Hines

Sometime during high school he’d gotten. . . Kind of. . . Beautiful, and Harper found it easier to not look directly at him. When she did, it did strange things to her, making her voice high and her cheeks burn. So she only ever really looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, like one would look at a solar eclipse.

— Summer Hines

. . . There was a softness to Cash’s gaze that made her want to lean into it. It felt like being stroked with a paintbrush, all the way down her body, leaving everything tingling in its wake.

— Summer Hines

When Cash woke up, he knew immediately something was wrong. Even without looking, he knew; Harper was gone, and the space she’d left in the bed ached like a missing limb.

— Summer Hines