The Pocket Pair (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

I listen, because at times, listening is an easy kindness to offer. Especially to someone who’s lonely.

“Fierce things come in tiny packages.” Plus, it’s a play on my full name, Valentina. It’s cute. It’s sweet. It’s mine. A gift from Chevy to only me.

When you have a crush, sometimes every word feels like a tell-tale heart, beating out the truth. Displaying your secret. Loudly announcing to everyone I HAVE FEELINGS.

“If you need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you, Tiny. Always.” Anything like … a marriage proposal? A kiss to ruin me for all other kisses?

If the Grahams weren’t such decent guys, I’d hate them all. Instead, I decided to adopt myself into their family. If you can’t beat them, better attach yourself to ‘em like a tick.

The man may be a slab of granite (both physically and in his personality), but he’s a gooey, toasted marshmallow for my sister. I find it endlessly amusing.

I don’t think about how being around Val feels like being wrapped in a soft scarf made of sunshine. I don’t consider how beautiful she looks when she laughs, which is often and loudly. I’ve barely noticed how amazing it is that she can look so good wearing paint-splattered Dickie’s coveralls. Okay, so maybe I have thought about all these things. But I have a special and impenetrable steel vault in my mind where they live.

There’s no one I’d want to have in my home. But Val … she feels like she belongs.

It’s Val. The way she lights up when she talks about things she likes. How she gestures wildly with her hands (which I find adorable even though I can’t stop thinking about the big mess I’ll have to clean up later). I love her expressive brown eyes and the flash of her smile as she talks. The giggles that punctuate her sentences. The way she’s so comfortable letting her emotions hang out while I keep a tight, tight lid on mine.

The point is: I’m not doing so hot as far as your health and safety. And it matters. You matter.”

No—I’d like stake-your-claim, possessive and proprietary kind of concern. The all-consuming, never-ending kind. I’d like the kind of concern that has him growling Mine when anyone else comes near.

“Because there’s no if we kiss—only when. And frankly, I’m tired of waiting for the when.” With a firm tug on his coat collar, I pull Chevy to me until his lips crash into mine.