Francesca Costa

“You should go order a sweet roll. Those are to die for. And a carne adovada burrito."

His mouth thinned. "Should I order something else to drink?"

"Yes! A diet whatever. No! A mocha latte. No!" I held up my hand to put him in pause so I could think. "Yes, a mocha latte."

"Are you finished?" he asked, rising to go place his order. He was really hungry.

"Yes. No! Yes. I'm good with that. I have a busy afternoon ahead of me, and I need all the energy I can get. And I need you to be my wingman."

"This should be interesting," he said, sauntering off like he owned the place.

By the time he got back, his fries had disappeared. It was weird.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“Want to come over to my place?" I asked him.

The sparkle in his eyes danced in humor. "I don't know," he said. "You live so far away.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge

“The next thing I remembered was Reyes smiling down at me as the sun filtered into his apartment, his hair mussed, his lids hooded with the thick remnants of sleep. I stretched as those three little words that every girl longs to hear slipped from his mouth with effortless ease. As though they did every day. As though they didn't mean the world to me.

With one corner of his mouth tipping sensually, he asked, "Want some coffee?"

And I fell.

I fell hard.”
― Darynda Jones, Sixth Grave on the Edge