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127 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 9, 2015
Julian wasn't a flame, he was a forest fire, consuming everything in his path. He didn't know the meaning of the word flicker, or how to do anything but burn up everyone surrounding him.


“I finally understand,” [Ryan] replied. “You’re having a hard time not loving him.”
“I’m having a hard time not hating him.”
“It’s the same thing, Scott.”

So however Julian wanted my heart to beat, it would beat to his rhythm, and it would beat only for him.
Nash Summers wows me again with her unique take on fated love. Scott and Julian continuously and coincidentally bump into each other, and in every occasion, they find reasons to hate each other more and more.
Scott has lived a by-the-book life while Julian has lived his so precariously. Scott is vanilla while Julian is trouble waiting to happen. Although polar opposites of each other, they soon find out the one thing they have in common – they need each other to be finally complete.
What I loved about this the most is how Nash Summers was able to weave the tale of two people destined for one another in the most un-clichéd manner. Instead of giving in to fate, Scott and Julian unintentionally widen the distance between them. Told in Scott’s perspective, Summers writes a slow yet measured story full of pain and inner struggle.
"No love is a love you want if it's not worth fighting for."
And as can be expected with any of her work, Nash Summers writes a poignant story with so much vividness and candor. Her talent in using the perfect symbolism and metaphor to describe a moment will leave you with goosebumps and make your heart ache with melancholy. When Scott described love like an all-consuming fire, I wanted to know what it would feel like to be burned by that same scorching inferno.
Her characters as always, are so authentic. Consistent to his personality, Scott delivers the narrative in a way that made me believe he really was living a superficial life – settling with safe and faultless but all the while living unhappily and incomplete. The need to be perfect in front of everyone else, to map out his future with precision, the effort to consciously reflect on his behavior, up to his despicably bland nature – these are all Scott’s and his alone.
But my entire life I'd felt like a shade of gray, something muted and dull, just waiting to experience my own personal Technicolor.
It’s funny, when I think about it now, how Summers made Scott perfectly superficial yet I didn’t think his character was shallow. That is pure talent, right there.
Although I would have appreciated a HEA than a HFN ending, this is a minor point that in no way affected how I relished this book until the last word.
The front of the cafe had two giant glass windows so passersby could have a look into the small sandwich shop, and outside were a few small white plastic tables with matching faux wicker chairs. The name of the shop was stenciled onto the inside of the window with some clean typography in a matte white paint.
The two of us approached the small children’s carnival that the park had set up for the time being. There were stands of pink and blue cotton candy, popcorn so buttered it looked like glass, and mini donuts whose smell filled the air around us with the scent of warm sugar.
The museum felt like a home to me, all the pieces of artwork collected from around the world, from some of the best and most brilliant artists. When I was near those pieces of artwork, I felt like they were fallen stars from somewhere in the heavens that became fed up with the perpetual brightness of themselves and decided to drop down to earth.


“He was shattered glass on an otherwise pristine floor, a bloodcurdling shriek in a quiet library. He was everything I was not.”
“There is a fine line between love and hate, my boy, if there is even a line at all”

“There is a fine line between love and hate, my boy, if there is even a line at all.”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t think you really needed to hear it,” he said. “But you sounded like you might need to. Julian has a way of drawing people to him, whether it’s because they love him or hate him."
I knew he was awake, but I didn’t expect him to say anything to me. I wanted him to, though. I wanted him to tell me he’d never see that ex-boyfriend of his, that he’d never leave my bed if I didn’t want him to, that the way his skin felt like it burned my fingertips was closer to love than hate.
I didn’t know if Julian would ever come to me, but I thought he was worth the wait. The fire he burned into me was so painful I couldn’t think of anything else. If this was love, or if this was hate, I’d take it either way, because at least around Julian, I felt something.
I can't believe what she said
I can't believe what he did
Oh, don't they know it's wrong?
Don't they know it's wrong?
Well maybe there's something I missed
But how could they treat me like this
It's wearing out my heart
The way they disregard
This is love
This is hate.
We all have a choice to make
“Can your mother and I meet him?”
“Can you what?” I shrieked.
“It’s obvious this person means something to you, and I think it’s only fair that we can meet him. It doesn’t have to be soon, just a promise that you’ll bring him by one day for dinner.”
“Dad, it’s really not like that.”
“It’s not now, but it will be.”
“How can you be so sure? Trying to grab ahold of Julian is like trying to cup mercury in your hands.”
“You’re a smart man, Scotty, and you’ve never backed down from something you put your heart into. Of this I am sure. If you see a hurdle, you’ll jump over it, or climb over it, or thrash at it kicking and screaming until it falls down. I know my son, and I just want to meet the man who he’s given his heart to.”
"Have you ever seen anyting more beautiful than a carousel? They're made of magic, and here we are, lucky enough to not only be witness to it, but allowed to come along for the ride," Julian said.
These photos demanded attention like the fall demands the frozen chill of winter to create a clean white slate to blanket over its mistakes.
No love is a love you want if it’s not worth fighting for.
Dear Scott,
I too have wept seeing Guernica.
How could I not?
Yours,
Another Redheaded Sara