My Phony Valentine (Holidays with Hart, #1)

by Courtney Walsh

“You think she’s pretty?” “Yes, she’s beautif. . .” he blurts that out, and abruptly stops, caught.

“I’m only thinking about what I’ll gain.” “Which is what?” “You,” he says simply. “You are all I want.”

“Would you like to date me for real?” he asks. “No contracts. No business. Just you and me.” I press my lips together, and try not to melt. “I’ll see you when I get back.” Another kiss, this one on my cheek. “And I’ll call you from the road.” Another kiss, on the opposite cheek. I nod. I can’t speak or stop looking at him. And then, as if to make sure I know exactly what he’s offering, he pulls my body to his and kisses me again, this time a little more spicy than sweet, leaving me bewildered and out of breath. “Goodnight, Poppy,” he says, his lips still touching mine. “Goodnight, Dallas.” I smile against his mouth, then finally pull away. And when I close the door, I wish I’d recorded that whole conversation because even I don’t believe it actually happened. I’m not going to sleep at all tonight.

I have given his question a lot of thought—both with my heart and my head. Here’s the best, most adult answer I could come up with. I like him. A lot. Heck, I might even almost love him. But I have a life here I like, a lot. We’ve both worked hard to get where we are, and for a time, we helped each other achieve more than we could on our own. He might have to leave and I can’t go with him. Contract ends, we’re still friends, no matter what. In the future, who knows, but for now, it’s best to part ways on a high note.

“This one’s for you, Miss Poppy,” the older man says kindly. “Special order.” I take the large bouquet of gorgeous pink tulips from him and fish around in my pocket for a five dollar bill I tucked away. “Tip’s already covered,” he says. “Mr. Burke sure is a nice guy.” I smile at him as he turns to go, and then pull the card from the wrapping. Poppy, Had a few things to take care of in the city. I’ll meet you at the dance. I’ll be the one staring at you like a lovesick puppy. —Dallas

“I cannot be-lieve you did that,” I gasp. He smiles. “Haven’t you ever been that crazy over someone? That you were willing to make a complete fool of yourself?” My own words hang between us. His hands are on my arms, burning straight through my skin. “What did you think? Did we do okay?” There isn’t a drop of moisture in my mouth, that’s what I think. “When did you have time to—?” “Monica used to be a professional cheerleader,” he says. “She did it all. The choreography, I mean, not the part where we made fools of ourselves.” I smile. “You have good friends.” “They like you,” he says. “They think you’re good for me.”

“That was cool what you did.” Then, with a smile that would chill a corpse, she says, “But if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” And with that, she walks away. “She secretly likes you,” I tell him. “If that’s her version of liking someone, I’d hate to be on her bad side.”

I give him one more quick kiss, then turn away. “You know, if we’re going to be dating for real, we need to talk about your dance moves. When you’re committing to making a complete fool of yourself over a girl, it’s important to note that you cannot look sexy while doing it.” He drapes an arm around me and we start toward the building. “You think I looked sexy?” “That hip shake thing? Are you kidding me?” I shudder. “Hot!” He laughs out loud, then presses his lips to my hand. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” I follow him back inside with a smile. “I can’t wait to discover it all.”