Page 37 of How I Love You

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat to fight off the crisp autumn air. Fall was my favorite season. It wasn’t too cold, but for someone who learned to crochet at nine years old with her meemaw’s help, a season made for sweaters, mittens, and scarves crafted from the lightest and most supple yarn was the best of all.

And to put an exclamation mark on my basic sweater-weather-loving soul, I also loved pumpkin spice and several other basic fall things.

“He didn’t bring it up or say anythin’ about it again after that?” Hope asked, her tone full of quiet surprise.

“Nope. Maybe I imagined that almost-kiss in your basement,” I said, biting my lip. Of course I’d told her about it—and the reason we were in her basement in the first place—before we even got to the fun part about what I’d thought was a budding romance between myself and the swoony PI.

“I doubt that,” she replied. When she caught my dubious expression, she giggled softly. “Kota, it sounds like y’all had some serious chemistry, and you’re not one to invent stuff like that. Aren’t you the one who told me not to worry about whether or not Paul Samson was into me because when you don’t click with someone, it’s as clear as a bell?”

“Yeah, I said that.”

And I stood by that assessment. I didn’t understand why anyone would need help trying to figure out if they had chemistry with someone when it was so blatantly obvious when chemistry was absent.

For instance, there was that date with Billy Matthews. Sweet guy, but the whole night, I felt like I was trying to have a conversation with a wallpaper sample. It didn’t matter how many jokes I made or how many stories I told. Nothing clicked. No sparks, no excitement—just a polite smile and a distant look in his eyes that told me he’d rather be anywhere else.

And then there was the time I tried to force something with Greg Phillips. He was good on paper: funny, successful, handsome, all the things. But when we went out for coffee, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were playing a role in some awkward play neither of us wanted to be in. There wasn’t a single moment where my heart skipped a beat, and when he kissed me goodnight, I felt... nothing. No butterflies, no swooning—just a lukewarm, "that was nice" kind of vibe.

It was always so clear to me when the chemistry just wasn’t there. No amount of good looks or shared interests could create that kind of connection when it was missing. So when I felt it with Tucker—that undeniable spark—I knew it wasn’t in my head.

But, still, it was more than a little off-putting that the man hadn’t uttered a word about my flirty proclamations for the rest of the evening. In fact, even after he insisted on walking meback to Hope’s house, and I was sure there were enough sparks between us to start a forest fire as we said goodnight, he didn’t try to kiss me again, either.

Now, it could’ve been because I’d spied Gertie trotting along after us, likely making sure I got home safe while he was attempting to do the same thing. I was sure he’d spotted her too. Tucker Black was nothing if not very aware of his surroundings.

I told Hope that part, and she nodded sagely. “He wouldn’t be the first person to avoid a showdown with that tiny monster.”

“Gertie’s a gem,” I defended my furry family member. “But it is kinda strange… She doesn’t seem to be doin’ the matchmakin’ thing with us like she’s done for others.”

“Well… maybe that’s a sign it’s not meant to be. Your momma did insist that Gertie never gets it wrong.”

I chuckled. “Okay, yeah, but at the end of the day, she’s still a darn goat.”

“Is she, though?” Hope teased as we walked across the hospital’s parking lot.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. “It’s an unknown caller.”

Hope shrugged. “Spammers.”

I sent them to voicemail and put my phone away, only to fish it back out again as a text message pinged.

It’s Tucker. Call me back.

I showed Hope the screen, and she lifted a brow. “How did he?—”

She stopped talking and nodded, likely coming up with the same answer I would’ve given: private detective.

I hit send on the call to Tucker, putting it on speakerphone when he picked up after the first ring. “Hey, you’re on speaker. I’m here with Hope.”

“Good. Did you tell her?”

He’d permitted me to fill her in before we’d parted ways last night, after much convincing on my part.

“Sure did,” I replied, giving Hope a wry smile. “I told her everythin’.”

Including details about the night that had nothing to do with the case of course. And if we spent more time discussing his swoony stare and that smile that had impressed not only me but Mrs. McClusky, too, who could blame us? What was a little pirate treasure when there was girl talk to be had?

“Did you find out if the key is real?” Hope asked, leaning toward the phone.

“It’s real. Have you seen it before?” he asked.

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