Words mean nothing. They are like the husks of the coffee Bean. They cover what is essential, which is the bean itself, and when the husks are discarded, they lie on the road and rot and disappear. Actions are what lie inside, like the bean.

I usually submit a novel at a certain number of words, and when I've finished working with my editor, the novel is longer than when I submitted it. I need my editor to help me open up the story.

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.

Even bad coffee is better than no coffee at all.

You got to wake up and smell the coffee, because it's going to hit, and these gas prices are going to go up, and up, and up, and up.

If it wasn't for the coffee, I'd have no identifiable personality whatsover.