Page 29 of The Texan's Secrets

“Only if it matters to you.”

“Both, I guess. He’s—” Emilia tried to put a word to it “—intuitive, perceptive, really clever, also athletic. He engages my brain while looking like a cover model.” She gestured to herself. “And it’s me, plain ol’ me.”

Paris seemed taken aback. “What do you mean,plain ol’ you? You’re not plain, and you’re not old.”

Emilia appreciated her friend’s staunch support. “I’m not exactly cover-model material either.”

Paris took a beat. “You do know you’re pretty, right? I wasn’t just saying that the other day.”

“Whatever.” Emilia had never aspired to pretty. She was content with ordinary.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with ordinary. In fact, she liked it. She could go out for a drink with friends and not have to fend off random men trying to chat her up.

She’d seen what happened to Paris when her friend dressed up and went for a night out. With her long legs, narrow waist, shapely bust, and the way her deep green eyes were brought out by her rich auburn hair, she attracted more attention than she wanted.

Paris was adroit at fending it off, but it looked like a whole lot of work to Emilia.No thanksto that, for sure.

“I don’t get it,” Paris said, seeming puzzled now. “I mean, I know you downplay your looks all the time, because... Well, I’m really not sure exactly why you do that. But your eyes are wide, that mixed color of hazel is fantastic. Your brows are perfect. I wish I had your nose.”

Emilia’s hand automatically moved to her nose. “It’s just a nose.”

“It’s perfectly straight and exactly the right size. Man, even your lips are balanced. And you don’t need lipstick, because they’re full and dark all on their own. Don’t get me started on how you can wear anything off the rack and look terrific.”

Emilia was getting amused now. “Do you think you might be just a little biased?”

“Biased?”

“Rose-colored glasses, because you’re my friend, and you love me.”

“I’m not biased. I’m jealous.”

Emilia went speechless. In what universe could Paris possibly be jealous of Emilia’s looks? She gestured her friend up and down. “But you—”

“But me what?”

“You’regorgeous.”

“No.” Paris shook her head. “Not naturally. I’ve learned to do a lot with makeup and a blow-dryer. And I pay a fortune for these highlights.” She shook a lock of her hair. Then she turned her head to profile. “Look at my nose. Plus, my arms and legs are too long, and my bust is out of proportion to my hips. It takes me forever to find dresses and slacks.”

Emilia burst out laughing. “There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with your nose.”

“It’s crooked.”

Emilia peered closely and critically. “It’s not crooked.”

“Right here.” Paris pointed to a slight flaw at the bridge.

“You callthatcrooked?”

“What would you call it?”

“Incredibly vain if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Paris waved a dismissive hand. “Chase McMillian didn’t seem overly impressed.”

“You said you two had fun.”

Paris had come back from her k!smet date—a hot-air balloon ride followed by dinner at an exclusive lakeside resort south of town. By her account, it had been a picture-perfect romantic evening.

---