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

by Courtney Walsh

And she leaves the room so quickly, I don’t have time to tell her that Mack’s wrong about me. Which is probably for the best, since I’m not actually sure she is.

The leaves have started to turn, and I’m struck by how the earth beautifully lets go of the things that need to be reborn.

I search his face for forgiveness, and it’s right there. Like it always has been. No judgment. No prejudice.

“Why?” The word hangs there, and the silence forces me to think about that day. I tried so many times to erase it from my memory but failed every time.

I feel the second he looks away.

maybe seeing them get married would give me the closure I needed.

He looked happy. I couldn’t deny it, and I didn’t begrudge him a full, joy-filled life. I was just surprised that Lindsay was “the one.”

No book I’ve read, no novel I’ve lived in, could ever describe the feeling of actually watching it happen. To someone you care about.

I summoned all the courage I’d lacked all these years and said it again.

He nods, and I walk out into the hallway, feeling like someone just gave me back my life. The first person I want to tell is Emmy.

‘Blister.’ Because he only shows up when the work’s all done.”

But even as I say it, I wonder if it’s true.

We are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be. I might be a hopeless romantic, but I can read between the lines.

Even though I know he feels nothing but friendship for me. Being a hopeful romantic sucks.

She takes a bite of her muffwich but doesn’t respond. Probably because she senses that I’m trying to convince myself. Which is what I’m doing. And I’m doing a horrible job of it.

Sometimes, she’s downright beautiful.

remind myself I’m here to prove her wrong, but so far, it’s not working.

I was hurting her, daily, and she didn’t say a word.

She does a little dance, and I wonder how many people in the world get to see this side of her.

It’s like our friendship back then was better as a secret.

“Let’s not read into it, okay?” Because my heart can’t handle it.

In this case, thoughtfulness does feel a little like romance. Isn’t the difference between “nice” and “romantic” the motivation?

I take a second to survey the scene, and I’m overwhelmed for a moment. They’re all here for me. The weight of that doesn’t escape me.

“Huh?” I say, because I’m eloquent and have a way with words.

stop arguing because I know he’s right.

He walks out, leaving me standing with Donoho and feeling blindsided and excited at the same time.

Maybe you’ve closed yourself off by creating these unattainable standards for every guy you date.

It hits me that I might’ve actually been looking forward to seeing her, because when I walk in and she’s not there, I’m disappointed.

This feels like a situation that calls for an exit strategy.

But I’m not about to skip out on Emmy.

John spots me and walks over. “Don’t think we don’t know what you’re up to.” “I’m not up to anything,” I say. “I’m here for work.” Ernie scoffs. “Your ‘work’ is trying to turn our Emmy into a harlot.”

“My husband said you had a dry sense of humor.” She smiles. “I like it. I won’t even ask you to smile in the photos, that’s how nice I am.”

She’s looking at me now, and I’m pretty sure she asked me a question. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what it was. I’ve never been tongue-tied because of a woman. I dated Lindsay for years, and she’s gorgeous, but she never rendered me mute.

How in the world am I even supposed to react to that?

I don’t think she realized that for me, those two things were in direct opposition to each other.

I beg my body to relax, even as every nerve-ending is standing at attention.

I want the distraction, but not the noise. Not when my mind is already so loud.

My breath is ragged, and I have to swallow the bitter taste of shame as it crawls up the back of my throat.

I blink, look down, and her eyes twinkle. I immediately break, relax, and feel a slight smile crawl across my face. In an instant, with one softly spoken sentence, Emmy has saved me.

She made me want to clean up my own mess, just like she made me want to take the high road tonight.

and decide it’s too far-fetched.

And as confident as Owen is, I see the remnant of a lot of years of believing he wasn’t smart enough to amount to anything.

Call it self-preservation. Call it stupidity. Both things are equally true.

When I don’t react accordingly, she nudges my arm.

It’s like Owen has rumbled to life, and the second the words are out, I’m holding on to them as if they’re a bouquet of balloons that have lifted me off the ground.

Three-Date Owen, remember?” I squint over at him. “Yeah, I remember, but I don’t know if I buy it.”

I’ve never been more unhappy to see my car in my life.

don’t think there’s a tense for something that has happened, continues to happen, and probably will happen in the future.

Waiting is not only hopeless, it’s idiotic.

I try to ignore my disappointment, but it’s there, plain as day.