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

by Courtney Walsh

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

I

want Mr. Darcy clenching his hand after helping Elizabeth into the carriage. Or Ryan Reynolds bursting into my workplace to profess his love for me after faking our engagement. Or Harry telling Sally that he wants the rest of their lives to start as soon as possible.

“Everyone will tell you how lucky you are, but you don’t feel lucky. You feel invaded. Helpless. Grateful to be alive, but still angry that it happened. You don’t know what survived, or if irreplaceable things can be saved.”

My favorite is, “Oh my gosh, it could’ve been so much worse!” As if it wasn’t bad enough. As if I want to think about all the things that could’ve been worse. I’ve said those words to other people, thinking I was helping them see a more positive perspective, but now I know words like those don’t help.

I follow Regan’s gaze across the pavilion and see Owen, wearing jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with an open flannel button-down over it. He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap, and I’m pretty sure he should be named “Sexiest Man Alive” by every single magazine in the world. Even Popular Mechanics and Bird Watchers Monthly.

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.

“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.”