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Dan had been so bone-deep sure that he was going to have to leave Casey that he had, in effect, mentally reconciled himself to the idea. There was something to it, he was pretty sure, and he said so to Abby: something to the idea of reconciliation, something to smoothing over all the hollow, pitted scars in his soul with warm beach sand. He’d bake in the sun until all the regrets had baked out, like alcohol from a rum cake.
“Don’t you mean rum balls?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I mean cake.”
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Bookmark Notes:
I love this story so much....I don't think I can STOP myself from re-reading it ALMOST IMMEDIATELY!