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

by Courtney Walsh

And call it The Earl Next Door?! Take my money.

hmmm yep.

“You need to come with me,” the firefighter shouts. “Now!” To the ends of the earth, I think, because I’m convinced that this man is not only my savior, he’s my soulmate. Here to carry me to safety.

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

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

valid.

I thought I was over having to hide my complicated feelings for her brother from her. Doesn’t matter. No complicated feelings here. Only embarrassment. I need him to go away.

“I remember her.” Jace jumped out of the truck. “Really? Surprising. She was kind of a wallflower.” Not around me she wasn’t.

I’ll do as I’m told, but I won’t like it.

Owen grunts. There’s the Owen I knew.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” My face heats. Yes. I am. There is no “zen” when Owen is in my orbit.

If hopeless romance were a physical thing, I’m sure there would be marshmallows in it.

Her eyes bounce to mine, then back to Lindsay, then back to mine, almost like she wants to follow my lead on how to treat her. I raise my eyebrows in a “heck if I know” look, hoping she gets it. She does.

Lindsay puts a hand on my arm, like we still have the familiarity we had when we were together. I look down at her hand, and she takes it off. Good.

Well, wait. Slow Burn actually isn’t terrible. It’s good to know my status as a weirdo is still intact.

He hasn’t changed. He’s always been this kind. People just don’t bother to look long enough to see it. And take me or leave me Owen doesn’t bother trying to prove himself.

Not that I say a lot or have a lot of conversations. But back when we were friends, she’d pull little snippets from our pond chats as proof that I was a good guy and wield those snippets like a warrior in battle.

And I’m Phoebe Sutherland, the goofy, slightly unattractive, sidekick character who’s in like two scenes in the book.

I want to be annoyed at the constant book references, but it's actually really good characterization. Owen has a completely different internal dialog.

My customers mean well, but by the time the interview rolls around and Lindsay shows up, 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.

I’m not that goofy, nerdy teenager being low-key berated in the high school hallway. I’m a goofy, nerdy adult. And this is my store.

At the dock, we were equals. Almost. She was still way smarter than I was.

interesting. she focused on him being too attractive and he thinks she is too smart for him.

“Honey, did you see? Owen’s here!” “Yes, Mom, he’s six-foot-two and kind of hard to miss.” I give Owen a quick nod of acknowledgement. “Hey.”

He gives me a smile. A real one. Those are hard to come by with Owen. This is also doing things to me.

If Reagan were describing our tension, I dare say it would also not have the word “sexual” attached to it. This is just me being weird.

Reagan comes up beside me and follows my gaze. “You hate to see him go, but you love to watch him walk away.” I slowly turn toward her. “Are you finished?” “I’ve never seen you so flustered, Emmy.” She grins. “I’m just getting started.”

I like her.

Being back in your childhood bedroom is kind of like a dating app for garden gnomes. It’s weirdly familiar, but everything is smaller.

lol what?

I want to find adventure and romance, like Outlander Claire finds with Jamie on the Scottish hillsides.

why do so many books reference Outlander? Jamie was a bit, uh, forceful. not cute.

If he’s a unicorn, well, then, I’m going unicorn hunting.

She has a gift for hospitality, and she loves to entertain. But she isn’t fussy about it. Her mantra is, “Come as you are, and there will be food.”

There is no love here. Only pie. And duty. Duty pie.

Owen brought up The Day That Shall Not Be Named. Right out there. In broad daylight. As if it’s a topic to be discussed on the street. Doesn’t he know we don’t rehash our most embarrassing moments? We slowly back away and never speak of them again.

Something inside me settles. This is my place. These are my people. I glance at Owen. Except for him.

I have a scene flash in my mind from Lady and the Tramp, only it’s Owen and me eating the opposite ends of a dinner roll. I think something might actually be wrong with me.

Do people really talk like this? I glance at Emmy, whose cheeks have reddened three shades since this conversation started. At least I’m not alone in this verbal assault.

I dare a glance at Emmy, who looks like she is playing a solo game of freeze tag.

Emmy looks at me, and though she says nothing, I see the gratitude—and the chastisement—in her eyes. Emmy never let me call myself stupid. That hasn’t changed.

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 already know what women want.” He wags his eyebrows in a way that makes it clear he absolutely does not know what women want.

“You’re going to help me frost them.” “I have no idea how to do that,” I say. “Have you held a fire hose before?” “Of course.” “This is nothing like that.” Now I laugh. I’m comfortable. Relaxed.

He could’ve said, “Beautiful is a stretch, but I’m glad you did something with her hair.” Or even, “Glad you put her in red. Now her dress matches her cheeks.” Those comments would’ve made him a royal jerk wagon, but they’d be honest.

aw, that is so sad.

Actually, I don’t really have “outfits.” I just have clothes.

I kept her at arm’s length, and she kept me close. I feel like a jerk all of a sudden.

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.

Does everyone in town think I have feelings for Emmy or what?

lol why don't you know you have feelings for her?

“Top six? That’s random.” He shrugs. “Top six is better. It gives you one more to add to your list that should be in a top five but is left out.”

I stare at the screen, as if I’m trying to decide whether or not to answer when really all I’m thinking is: Strike three. He’s a phone talker.

“Levi, you’re the human version of period cramps.”

Emmy puts a hand on her hip. “You have the rest of your life to be an idiot. Can’t you just take today off?”

“Household chores aren’t romance, Mom.” “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.”

Do you want me to show you what we’ve done so far?” No, I want you to leave so I can stare at Owen without an audience. “Sure.”

And then he walks into the kitchen. He leaves me standing here, in the living room, trying to catch my breath. It seemingly left the room with him.

“Why are you being weird?” I ask. “I’m not being weird,” he says weirdly.