"I have a few samples, though I don't have any of my entire novels with me. Alas, alack." Looking sideways at him, Diana failed to suppress a grin, "I doubt they're your kind of leisure material, haha. I write romantic fiction." For some, a scarlet letter. For others, a badge of pride. Oh well. Diana liked her books. Other people liked her books. She could live with that. She could live off of that. That was definitely the best part.
"Normalcy is subjective to the individual. Does one feel that one is normal? I think it's part of being comfortable in your own skin. What everyone else thinks? This silly definition by consensus? Well, ptooey. As Eleanor Roosevelt has yet to say, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
"See, cigars you can probably get without a hitch. This town still seems to be on the prohibition bandwagon, so the whiskey part might be tricky. Although," Diana tilted her head, squinting at him, "something tells me you're a man who accepts challenges."