Mollie Fields

“If this is all we get, then let's take it.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart

“I might mess this up,” he says, clearing his throat as he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket. He starts to sing, softly. “I love you, a bushel and a peck—” “Go away. I’m being stupid,” I blubber as I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, shaking my head. “A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” Abby’s song. He’s singing Abby’s song. The tears start rolling down my face faster than I can catch them as I watch his deep-blue eyes, focused on reading every lyric off that crumpled piece of paper. I feel like my heart might burst, I’m feeling so many things at once. “My gran used to sing us that song. I never loved it, but Abby did.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart

“I don't want to leave you, but I love you too much to stay.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart

“His voice is deep. Soft. I know in that moment, even though it could not be more ridiculous, that if I die in there, I won’t die without falling in love. “Promise?” I ask. He nods and stretches his arm out, holding up a gloved pinky across the distance. I take it and we pinky promise. The smallest contact, but the first time we’ve ever touched. And right now that doesn’t scare me.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart