The Bluff (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

laughter I kept hearing from her. “Don’t forget you have a girlfriend,” I muttered to him at one point. “Oh—do you not like me flirting with yours?”

My mom used to keep a wooden puzzle box on her bedside table. When she got sick, I would sit in bed with her, sliding the pieces in just the right way to reveal the hidden compartment. Mom placed a smooth blue stone in the hidden compartment, a prize for solving the puzzle. The stone was the exact color of Winnie’s eyes.

And because I tend to go all in whether I’m playing a game or making a mistake, I don’t remove my arm.

I don’t see Winnie for the rest of the afternoon, but that doesn’t stop me from constantly looking for her.

He held out a hand to me, I took it, and he hasn’t let go since.

What I hear the loudest is I don’t know you well enough YET. It’s a sneaky promise.

“James, I love you, but you’re a giant buzzkill. You know that?”

But hearing the words come out of her mouth immediately forced me to realize something: I think I do love her. Not casually.

“I feel your love in all the things you’ve done for me.”