My Phony Valentine (Holidays with Hart, #1)

by Courtney Walsh

People don’t really speak like this in real life, do they? As if their rear ends were planted squarely at the top of their neck and talking out of the hole that’s there?

For a stranger, she sure is easy to flirt with. “Yeah, you two would be terrible together,” Gram mutters under her breath. “I wish people would just listen to me and do what I say.”

Gram smacks him on the arm, and he says, “Oh, right. Sorry.” He folds his hands and closes his eyes. Is he going to pray? “Lord, thank you for—” he is, and I quickly close my eyes— “this meal and this company. Thank you for Gram, and I pray that you convict her about her poor interpersonal skills.” I hear another smack. “I ask that you bless this food, and bless the hands that made it.” Are famous people’s prayers on a fast track to God’s ears? If so, I’ll take it, Lord. “Bless our time and conversation, and,” he slightly pauses to clear his throat, “thank you for bringing Poppy into our lives.” Wait. What?

“Is this what it’s like for you?” I whisper. “Being pulled into bathrooms by gorgeous women?” He grins. “I mean, I wouldn’t say it happens often, but. . .”

“You didn’t Google my whole life’s story?” He smiles, and I swear the light overhead flickers its approval. “Only the important stuff,” I say with a smile. “Like ‘Are Dallas Burke’s abs photoshopped?’”

One reason I was feeling semi-okay about any of this is because I wasn’t planning to do much pretending. I do like Dallas. I do think he’s handsome. I do believe he’s a good person, regardless of his reputation in the media. The only bit of faking I knew I’d have to do is the actual falling in love. That, I remind myself, has to be fake.

I mean, what man wants to “sit in a bookstore and read while holding hands and drinking coffee for at least an hour”? Because that’s number ten on this list. Now that I think about it, I wish I did know a man who wanted to do that with me. I’d marry him on the spot.

I like him. I really, really like him. Raya and Eloise are going to kill me. But I can’t help it. He’s funny and charming and kind and attentive and thoughtful and good-looking. And misunderstood. He’s so misunderstood.

I wonder if she felt what I just felt.

She watches me so intently I feel like she can see straight through my crap and right into my soul. Nobody else has even bothered to look before. She reaches over and takes my hands. “Now it’s time to forgive yourself, Dallas.”

the two take off toward the restaurant, which makes me rethink my stance that Poppy doesn’t fit in my world. . .because my world seems to like her a whole lot already.

I mean, I love kids, but I’m much more interested in not disappointing you. The text comes in at the same time Dallas looks up and sees me. The words are like a warm hug on a cold day, and I want them to mean more than they probably do.

“Well, this whole thing hasn’t been phony for me for a long time.” “I don’t think it was ever phony for me,” I whisper.