Page 18 of Can't Help Falling

I groan. “Yes. How embarrassing. I’m wearing one bunny slipper.”

“Right, because that’s what people are paying attention to when they see this huge spread with photos of my brother pulling you from your burning house. Jerry will probably win an award for this shot.” She points at the one on the front page.

I can admit it—it’s an incredible photo. Like something you’d see on the cover of Time. Not something we typically see on the front page of the Harvest Times.

“I think you might be wrong about your brother, Mack,” I say.

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious. I think he’s really good at his job.” I wipe the counter down. “I mean, he was last night.”

I just said he was “good at his job last night,” and I’m going to do my best not to fantasize about what else that could mean.

“Not that I want to get in the habit of defending him, but the guy did save my life.”

Whew. Nice save.

“I get it,” she says. “You feel indebted to him. But that doesn’t change the fact that he completely abandoned me.”

“You were twenty-two.”

“So?”

“All he did was move out of town,” I say.

“Why are you defending him?” she asks, then squints at me, a suspicious look on her face.

I look as innocent as I can.

“Oh. Oh no.” She’s staring at me way too intently.

I wipe the same spot on the counter for the third time and shrug. No big deal, I’m not hiding anything, and spit out a “What?”

Her jaw drops. “You don't. . .” She leans in. “Emmy. Tell me you don’t have some kind of, what do you call it, Munchausen’s or Stockholm syndrome or something just because he saved your life!”

I stop wiping the counter.

“First, Munchausen’s is when someone invents an illness. Second, Stockholm syndrome is basically Belle with the Beast. How they made that into a musical is beyond me. And third,” I whip the towel over my shoulder, “I don’t have either of them, thank you very much.”

She still looks suspicious. “Don’t go catching feelings for Owen. He’s not the kind of guy you want to get involved with. He’s all wrong for you.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” A voice chirps in from our left. My neighbor Peggy is sitting a few stools away, eavesdropping like it’s her full-time job. “No offense to you, Mack, but your brother has always been trouble.”

“I beg to differ, Peg.” Her sister, Meg (yes, really), is sitting on the opposite side of Peggy. “This is just like in that novel, Burning For You. Owen and Emmy are exactly like Rake and Jewel.”

Meg might also love romance novels, but that’s where our similar interests end.

“This isn’t a romance novel, Meg,” Peggy says. “Owen Larrabee is not the kind of guy our Emmy needs.”

Our Emmy? Was I adopted by Peg and Meg and someone forgot to tell me?

“Besides, in Burning For You, it was Jewel who saved Rake. Further proof that Emmy is a very different kind of heroine.”

Ouch.

I’m about to respond when Gracie Mitchell, one of my best customers, steps up with a smile. She’s the middle school orchestra teacher and an avid reader, which makes her a kindred spirit.

“The usual?”

---