My Phony Valentine (Holidays with Hart, #1)

by Courtney Walsh

Even her name in my mouth tastes like week-old milk.

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?

She places a hand over where a normal person’s heart would be, as if there wasn’t just a gaping black soul-sucking cavity there.

Most people outgrow their bullying once they graduate high school, but it turns out that’s not true for boxed-wine sociopaths like Margot.

Is this lust? Am I going to have to repent? How many deadly sins am I committing?

I’m a one-trip person. I’ll cut off circulation in my forearms before I make a second trip.

It sounded nicer in my head than how it came out of my mouth.

Story of my life…

People don’t always let us become who we are. They try to keep us in the box of who we were. We’re all on our way to becoming someone new, aren’t we?

Culinary expert James Beard once famously said, “Food is our common ground.” And here we are, in the kitchen—the heart of the home. James Beard also said that if he were ever forced to try cannibalism, he might manage it if there was enough tarragon around. So not all of his quotes are quotable.

I guarantee they will name it ice falling after I’m done.

I’ve never been diagnosed with social anxiety, but I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like.

Yup.

I look like one of the hyenas in The Lion King. My mouth is agape and slightly contorted,

Every picture of me ever.

Poppy Hart. The patron saint of pasta.

My heart still aches, after hearing about his childhood. I wish I could turn back time and make sure he never went through what he went through.

“I proposed to Monica two weeks after I met her,” he says with a resigned shrug. “When you know, you know.”

This gave me BIG expectations for the end of the book. I found it pretty lackluster after this foreshadowing.

“You can believe that if you want to,” I say into the microphone. “I can’t control that. But—and I mean no offense—I also really couldn’t care less. People are going to say what they want and believe what they want. What I care about is what the people who really know me say and believe. And how I think of myself. You want to judge me? Judge what I do from here on out.”

“Everyone gets hurt,” she says. “Until they heal. And then it’s time to try again.” She stands, picks up her bag and the dress she carried in on a hanger. “Otherwise, we’d all end up sad and alone.”

I pauses.

An example of the few editing issues that pulled me out of the story when I came across them. I know that’s not a problem for everyone! It weighs in pretty heavy for me because it’s very distracting though.