Page 13 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Satisfied with his work, he pressed print and waited for the machine to spit out the documentation he hoped would prove his worth. Everyone thought he was a screw-off and, based on his past, he couldn’t really blame them. But he’d turned a corner, flipped a new leaf and all that other affirmation shit. He wanted to be more than a glorified bartender. He had ideas, big ones he knew would take this place from doing fine to making it.

If only he could get his brothers to listen.

Ace didn’t think Del had thought this plan through. Cassie didn’t think he cared about anything. They were both wrong. He’d done nothing but think of the distillery for the past year. They were succeeding financially. The books were in the black according to Charlie. They all made enough to have comfortable lives and decent savings.

But they could do so much more.

The potential for their father’s dream could go beyond bedtime stories of Pappy Mel and his hooch. A distillery was great, but if they expanded into a restaurant they could incorporate their liquor into food. People went ape-shit over gin-infused steak with vodka-glazed carrots. This was Colorado. The hipster vibe ran strong. Plus, people here tended to enjoy food a lot more after a certain plant became legal for recreational use.

Lots of people with the mile-high munchies.

If his siblings would agree to his proposal they could secure their futures, provide for their mother for the rest of her life, hell, even make a sweet nest egg for any future little Jacksons. This was a solid business move.

Now he just had to convince his brothers.

Grabbing the printout, he carefully placed it into a file folder—he wanted to look as professional as possible for this—and headed out. His shift at the distillery didn’t start for another two hours, but he knew Ace and BJ were there checking the proofing tanks and he wanted to get this to them ASAP.

Since he lived in a small studio above the distillery, it took him less than a minute. As he guessed, the twins were at the proofing tank, checking the readouts. They were a small distillery, so they did batch, not continuous. This led to a slight difference of taste in each, but if they monitored the process closely they could keep the product as consistent as possible.

He stepped into Jack’s, heading through the swinging wooden door to the back where he knew his brothers would be. “Ace, BJ.”

They glanced up. Identical twins, it would be hard to tell them apart, but their hair was a dead giveaway. Ace kept his hair short, unable to give up the military habit of a buzz cut. BJ, however, had started growing his locks the day they got out. The long, wavy strands now reached his shoulders, but today, like most days, he had it up in something his sister called a man bun.

“Del,” Ace nodded.

“You’re here early.” BJ glanced at the clock on the wall. “Doesn’t your shift start in two hours?”

“It does, but I wanted to talk to you both about something.” He threw back his shoulders, straightening to his full height. Almost two inches shorter than the twins.

BJ sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Oh Del, not the restaurant thing again?”

He scowled. “Yes, BJ. The restaurant thing.”

“I thought we already agreed on that,” Ace said.

His gaze shifted to Ace. “No. We didn’t agree on anything. I asked and you said no.” Before his brother could shut him down again he continued. “And I understand why you did.”

That got the twins to shut up. Admitting he’d been wrong was not standard Delta Jackson behavior. Hell, not usual for a Jackson at all.

“I came at you with an idea, a good one, but not fully formed. You have questions. As you should. This is a big move, and I don’t want you two thinking I don’t know that. I do.”

He gripped the folder tight. It held so much more than a proposal. It contained months of work, hours of research. What his brothers didn’t know was the whole restaurant idea came to him last year when he’d been deciding what to do for his senior project. In order to graduate, he’d had to come up with a proposal for a new business. He needed to chart out the risk/cost analysis, yearly growth projection, and loss and prevention data. The whole thing had been time-consuming, difficult, and a freaking blast.

When he realized he could tweak his project to fit in the parameters of his own life, his excitement boiled over. With eager rashness—his standard MO—he’d suggested the idea of opening a restaurant to his brothers. No plans, no research, just “Hey guys, we should open a restaurant.” No wonder they turned him down.

Not this time.

“I realize opening a restaurant is risky, but if you’ll just look over my proposal, I think you’ll see the benefits outweigh the risks.”

“Proposal?” BJ glanced at him as if he’d never seen him before.

Ace simply reached for the file. Del handed it over, nerves racing like a damn rollercoaster. Truth be told, he’d always envisioned his project as an expansion of their business, so he didn’t have to change much.

“This is…thorough,” Ace said, glancing through the paperwork. “Who wrote this up?”

Biting back his frustration and hurt at his brother’s lack of faith, he answered, trying to keep the sneer out of his voice. “I did.”

Two sets of matching blue eyes glanced at him in surprise.

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