My Phony Valentine (Holidays with Hart, #1)

by Courtney Walsh

I connect the phone to the bluetooth in my car. “Okay, slow down, Gram, what’s going on?” “There’s a young man here holding a card with my name written on it,” my grandma says. “He says you sent him to the airport to get me.” “That’s right, Gram. He’s going to bring you here.” “But, Dallas, my name is spelled incorrectly on this card, and I don’t know if he can be trusted. What if he is trying to kidnap me? I watch TV.

“See you soon, Dally.”

She starts barking kitchen orders, just like old times, and I can’t help but think how nice it is to have her here. It’ll be nice not to come home to an empty house.

“Hey Jericho, if you’re not

going to cover anything up, can you at least try to cover your guy on defense so he doesn’t score a pair of goals in 58 seconds? How about a little hustle, big guy?”

Earlier, on the street, Poppy mentioned grace. From what I understand, grace is being forgiven for messing up—even when you don’t deserve it.

We sit, and there’s a lull. Dallas meets my eyes from across the table. 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.”

What was it that she saw in me that the rest of the world didn’t? And how could I change their minds?

NDAs and financial compensation were no match for what this whole arrangement might do to my heart.

I open my eyes, and Jericho holds his arms out wide, as if I just stated the secret of the universe. “Bro, you need to wife that girl immediately.”

Saying something kind and from the heart is never a bad idea, and it’s never the wrong thing to do.

move away from the door and let him through, repeating my mother’s warning in my head over and over again. Protect Your Heart. There was just one problem. I had no idea how to do that. Okay, two problems. I’m also not sure I want to.

“For what it’s worth, I think you should be honest about your dad,” I say. “You do? Why?” I shrug. “You have this secret. It’s a big one from your past. Believe me, I know about trying to get out from under things from the past.” “Yeah, you certainly do.” “I’m ashamed of mine, and you’re ashamed of yours. And it kind of has this hold on you, like it’s made you a prisoner. You live fearing that someday it’ll come out.”

“You should be there tonight. If for no other reason than to make sure I don’t fall down the stairs.” My eyes go wide. “You’re going?” “My first outing with my new hip.” I frown. “Is it safe?” She shrugs. “You should probably come along to be sure.” “This is not fair.” I groan. “But you’ll come?” “Fine,” I say. She grins. “Good girl.”

“You deserve to be happy, Dallas, no matter the lies you’ve repeated in your head over the years. I did not raise you to think less of yourself.”

She looks right at me. “I raised you so someone like her could find you.”