Can't Help Falling (Sweater Weather, #3)

by Courtney Walsh

Not the kind of secret that could land me ten to fifteen years in prison, or one that Dr. Phil would announce if my parents revealed that they found me in an abandoned basket at the circus. Although that would be one heck of an episode.

I stay home and read. A lot. Pajamas > Party.

I’d kill to be almost kissed. In the rain. By a guy with a beard. But it doesn’t happen for me. No beards. No rain. No kisses.

Fictional men are always better than the real ones. Always. Probably because they’re written by women.

The man who saved my life is a grown-up version of the boy who broke my heart.

A part of me does know that getting caught in the rain, even with Mr. Darcy, would not feel very romantic. I’d be sopping wet with mascara streaking down my face like a villain in a Tim Burton movie.

I want to crawl into a hole and stay hidden until hell freezes over or Leonardo DiCaprio dates someone his own age, whichever comes first. Probably the hell thing.

“So, what, they take pictures with our shirts off or something?” “No,” he says, laughing. “Have you seen Rigsby’s midsection? I think the only letters of the alphabet that guy knows are K, F, and C.”

There is no way slow dancing in a bookstore is supposed to have that kind of effect on me. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I can feel it in my ears.

“You should put yourself back on the market.” “Oh?” “Yeah,” I say. “I bet there’s someone out there who could make you really happy.” “Someone practical?” he asks. I smile. “Or someone romantic.”

So, while she may not need romance, I’m still going to find ways to give it to her. Because love really does make fools of us all. And I’ll be happy to be a fool for Emmy for the rest of my life.