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

by Courtney Walsh

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

Like the Bat Cave, but not the Bat Cave. I’m basically a superhero. My superpower? Romance. More accurately, romance novels. I know every trope, every second plot point, and every inciting incident.

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.

In my imagination, fires have arms, and they’re just waiting to choke the life out of me.

Yeah, glad to be alive, but helplessly and hopelessly angry at everything else.

Why do the things that are most precious have to be the most flammable?

“I know. It’s hard to watch. It feels invasive and overwhelming, and you feel helpless to stop it.” Wow. That’s exactly how I feel. The tears don’t stop, and my jaw trembles.

My pulse quickens under the weight of his gaze. Suddenly, I’m Elizabeth Bennett, feeling the passionate stare of Mr. Darcy. I am not the kind of girl who is accustomed to attention from the opposite sex. And I’m okay with that. I’ve accepted it. Although, I wouldn’t complain if some guy swept me off my feet and professed his undying love for me in a gazebo in the rain.

She gives one more squeeze and leans back. “I’m going to bake him my pumpkin bars. Everyone loves those. It’s the least I can do.” I laugh and then cough. My mom thinks the best way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. She’s not wrong about the pumpkin bars, though.

He pushes the newspaper toward me, and there, on the front page, is a photo of just what the captain described. Me, carrying Emmy out of her house. Her arms are wrapped up around my neck, and at the sight of it, something inside me rises. She looks so small and vulnerable. I want to hold her and keep her safe. From everything.

“And you know what they say about opinions,” he adds. “Everybody’s got ‘em and they all stink.”

I’ve never even been out of the country, not in real life anyway. I’ve spent a lot of time in rural 19th century England, among other countries of the fictional variety.

Guys in books who restore houses is such a cliché. And yet. . .I’m a sucker for it every time.

Peggy is all Rachel Lynde from Anne of Green Gables. She’s blunt and assuming and in everybody’s business.

“I think she was looking for the latest Amelie De Pierre novel.”

Not So Fictional Fall reference

“Do you want a latte or. . .?” My voice trails off like it’s decided to no longer participate in the conversation.

He put up this front that he was a tough guy with no feelings when the truth was, he was one of the kindest people I knew.

She angled her body toward me and waited for me to look at her. When I did, I saw her expression was serious. “So, you learn differently than other people. That doesn’t make you dumb.”

“As you wish,” I quip. I mentally gird my loins for this battle. Not exactly a land war in Asia, and there’s no iocane powder to speak of, but it’s going to be a back-and-forth worthy of Vizzini and the Dread Pirate Roberts.

That’s what I’m holding out for. If he’s a unicorn, well, then, I’m going unicorn hunting.

I want someone communicative and open with his feelings. Someone who loves romantic gestures. Someone who isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself for me.

Doesn’t he know we don’t rehash our most embarrassing moments? We slowly back away and never speak of them again.

This whole “conflicting feelings thing” going on inside me is not my favorite. Why can’t I just move on?

But the truth is, I don’t mind staying with my parents. There’s something instantly cozy about being here, and it’s nice to not be alone.

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.

He may even think I’m being naïve. Maybe I am. But so what? I believe in love and romance and sparks and butterflies.

Thoughtfulness in a relationship doesn’t always have to look like a romantic gesture, and don’t you think it’s more important in the long run? In this case, thoughtfulness does feel a little like romance.

Isn’t the difference between “nice” and “romantic” the motivation?

And I’m absolutely positive that their goaltender, Felix Jamison is standing in my front yard. Helping clean-up my house.

Absolutely Not in Love reference

“It’s perfectly normal to have anxiety after what you went through.” I take a breath. It’s a good one. “I don’t have anxiety.” “Maybe not, but you just had a panic attack,” he says. I stop arguing because I know he’s right. “Did you think you could reason with yourself not to have big feelings about this?” he asks. I nod, still a little shaky. I fight an overwhelming urge to fall into his arms and have him hold me.

It’s got a moody vibe. Cozy, I guess. And it feels like it was made by someone who put a lot of thought into it. And a lot of love. She turned this passion she had for books into a genuine lifestyle, and it’s kind of inspiring.

I never buy a new pair of shoes unless they’re versatile and sensible enough to wear with just about every outfit in my closet.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Not so bad? It was awesome! It was heaven! It was the stuff my dreams are made of! But then I look around. I see the lights, the camera stands, the people off to the side. Like the fictional characters I idolize, like the relationships I adore on the page. . . None of it was real.

standing there with her looking up at me, seeing straight through me, time stood still. Nothing else really mattered. It was like. . .magic. The kind of magic that lady on the podcast talked about. The kind of magic I don’t—or didn’t—believe in. I hope that one day, you know the magic of a sweet slow dance. That’s what that Hopeful Romantic had written. Well, guess what, lady?

If people tell you something often enough, especially people in authority, you start to believe it. You’re not smart. You make bad choices. You’re not living up to your potential.

The main reason is I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel the way Owen does. Er, did. Continues to do. I don’t think there’s a tense for something that has happened, continues to happen, and probably will happen in the future.

She’s right. As pointless as I think romance is, Emmy lives for it. And somehow, that makes it seem less pointless and more like something worth trying.

Doing something because someone else would like it is never insincere, especially if your goal is to prove to her that you want to put her feelings first.

If I may be so bold, pay attention to the little things. A solid guy is better than some big, grand gesture. Focus on his strengths. He may not be charming, but is he kind? He may not be witty, but is he a good listener? He may not be romantic, but is he thoughtful in other ways? A stand-up guy is a good thing. Even if he doesn’t sweep you off your feet.

“Are you hiding?” “No, just trying not to be seen.” “That’s literally the definition of hiding.”

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” “I’m not.” I peer up at him. “Not. . .uh. . .sorry to see you. Not happy that you’re sick, but, you know. . .” He trails off. I try to nod. “I know what you’re saying,”

P&P Homage

I’m thinking is: Strike three. He’s a phone talker. Everyone knows phones are exclusively for texting.

She smiles, and the room gets brighter. The buzzing inside of me calms just being in the same room as her.

I groan. “Peggy needs a hobby.” “She has one, dear. It’s getting into everyone else’s business.” Mom grins as she pulls the door open, and we walk inside through the side door.

Not all great love stories start with grand gestures.”

“Honey, he is speaking my language. Being thoughtful. Doing things that will show me he loves me. It doesn’t matter what the gesture is, if the intent behind it is to show someone you care, then it can be romantic.”

“And you’re right, one could argue that romance will fade. But. . .” she points a butter knife at me, “if a person is thoughtful, that sticks. Doesn’t that matter more? Just because someone is good at being sappy or thinking up romantic gestures, that doesn’t mean they’re worthy of your love.” She levels my gaze. “And just because they aren’t good at those things doesn’t mean they aren’t.”

“He was being friendly.” “He was being thoughtful.” She nods. “And I don’t know about you, but to me, that reads a lot like romance.”

Levin and Kitty don’t have the bombastic romantic rollercoaster of Anna and Vronsky. . . but their love is powerful and true, nonetheless.

My mother was right about his thoughtfulness. It’s in a romantic class all its own.