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“But somehow, I don't wind up on a tour of this soggy house. I wind up sitting in a cracked plastic Adirondack chair by the fire with Buck and -I think?- Chip and Lita-the-soon-to-be-rafting-guide, ranking Nicholas Cage movies by various criteria as the deep blues and purples of twilight melt into the deeper blues and blacks of night, the starry sky seeming to unfurl over us like a great, light-pricked blanket.” — Emily Henry
But somehow, I don't wind up on a tour of this soggy house. I wind up sitting in a cracked plastic Adirondack chair by the fire with Buck and -I think?- Chip and Lita-the-soon-to-be-rafting-guide, ranking Nicholas Cage movies by various criteria as the deep blues and purples of twilight melt into the deeper blues and blacks of night, the starry sky seeming to unfurl over us like a great, light-pricked blanket.