Is it possible not to ever know your type-not to even know you have a type-until quite suddenly you do?

Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.

People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.

He looks at her and smiles. "You're sort of dangerous, you know?"
She stares at him. "Me?"
"Yeah," he says sitting back. "I'm way too honest with you.

Is it possible not to ever know your type--not to even know you have a type--until quite suddenly you do?

Beside her, she can feel each breath he draws. How is it possible to be so close to a person and still not know what you are to each other? With baseball, it's simple. There's no mystery to what happens on the field because everything has a label -- full count, earned run, perfect game -- and there's a certain amount of comfort in this terminology. There's no room for confusion and Ryan wishes now that everything could be so straightforward. But then Nick pulls her closer, and she rests her head on his chest, and nothing seems more important that this right here.