"“You know what I like best about you, Ivan Xav?” she asked, newly shy in her illumination. He turned his chin into her hair in an inquiring sort of way. “My shiny groundcar? My Vorish insouciance? My astounding sexual prowess? My…my mother? Dear God, you’re not taking me for the sake of getting my um-stepfather?” “Well, I do like them both very much, but no. What I like best about you, Ivan Xav, is that you’re nice. And you make me laugh.” She smiled now, into his shoulder. “That…doesn’t seem like much.” He sounded a bit taken aback. “Yes,” she sighed, “but consider the context.”"
January 1, 1970