“Say my name again,” he whispers. I close my eyes and lean forward. “Étienne.” He takes my hand into his. Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. “Anna?” Our foreheads touch. “Yes?” “Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.”
“I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself?” || Stephanie Perkins, Isla and the Happily Ever After ||
Atlanta was home for almost eighteen years, and though I’ve only known Paris for the last nine months, it’s changed me. I have a new city to learn next year, but I’m not scared. Because I was right. For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It’s a person. And we’re finally home.
Lola and the Boy Next Door
“Are you ready?” he asks. “I am.” “Are you scared?” “I’m not.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.
Isla and the Happily Ever After
“The last page.” He gestures towards the table, where a pencilled sketch is being turned into inked brushstrokes. It’s a drawing of us, in this café, in this moment. I smile up at him. “It’s beautiful. But what comes next?” “The best part.” And he pulls me back into his arms. “The happily ever after.”