Page 40 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

“But she left it to you.”

“Yes, but my cousin thinks everything belongs to her. And she, um, accused me of hiring a husband.”

Silence filtered over the line for a moment before Del softly spoke in her ear. “And you feel guilty because it’s too close to the truth.”

Seriously, how did the guy do it? If he ever quit bartending, he could make a fortune on one of those psychic hotlines.

“Cassie?”

“Yes, okay! I’m feeling conflicted about the lie in order to get what I want, but…I love that house, and I know my cousin wouldn’t appreciate it. She admitted she was just going to sell it anyway.” Frustration, guilt, and despair all danced around her head, joining the dull ache from her ill-advised vodka party last night. “I’m sorry, Del. These are my issues. I shouldn’t be bothering you with them.”

“Hey, just because I’m your fake fiancé doesn’t mean I’m not your real friend.” He paused, his voice lowering when he spoke again. “I care about you Cassandra. If you’re having problems, you’re always welcome to share them with me. I can’t promise I’ll be any help, but I’m a really good listener. It’s in the bartender handbook.”

A small laugh escaped her. “Thanks, Del. I—you’re my friend, too.” How odd to realize he truly was. Even though he annoyed her most days, she’d come to see all the Jackson siblings as friends, even Delta.

“Thanks, Sassy.” When she groaned, he just laughed. “And I know how you feel about the house. When you love something so much it hurts, it’s hard to see it go to someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

“What do you love?” Because it sounded like he spoke from experience.

“Beatrice.”

“Beatrice?” An odd twisting sensation filled her gut. No urge to vomit this time, but a strange feeling seeped over her, one she would have called jealousy if the idea wasn’t so ludicrous.

“My dad’s 1969 Chevy Camaro. The most beautiful car in the world.”

A car! He was talking about a freaking car. She would not dignify the relief coursing through her by acknowledging it.

“Three-speed automatic, 357 V8, fully-restored, purrs like a kitten. I helped him fix her up as a kid. Whenever he was home on leave we’d spend hours together in the garage, tinkering away, replacing spark plugs or an alternator. Fixing up cars wasn’t Ace and BJ’s thing and Charlie always complained about the oil smell, so it was always just me and Dad.”

Cassie could hear the smile in his voice. Having three siblings, it must have been hard to get alone time with either parent, especially since their dad was on tour so often. As a child, she remembered savoring every moment of attention her parents graced on her, few and far between as they were. So yeah, she could see how Del could relate. Beatrice was his house, his part of his dad to keep alive.

“Do you still have her?”

“Yup. Mom tried to sell her to some guy a few years after dad died. Said it was just taking up space in the garage since it wasn’t a practical car for the mountains.”

She could imagine. Come to think of it, she’d never seen Del driving it.

“I begged her not to get rid of it, promised I’d even get a summer job and pay her for the car myself.”

“Did you?”

“Get a job? Hell yeah, started my very first paper route that summer, but a 1969 Chevy Camaro in prime condition like Beatrice can go for upwards of eighty thousand.”

Good thing she’d skipped more coffee, or it’d be shooting out her nose right about now. “For a car?”

“Yup, but Mom let me have her anyway. Said I showed “good, strong character” and I’d proven my responsibility.” He gave a sad little laugh. “Probably the last time anyone’s ever said that about me.”

A small ache pierced her heart. “Del, you’re responsible.”

“Yeah, so responsible I dropped out of college at nineteen and didn’t—never mind. It’s fine. I didn’t mean to make this about me. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. She could hear it in his voice. He wasn’t the only one getting good at reading their fake fiancé’s emotions. Del didn’t think he had good character? He was one of the most stand-up guys she knew. He never served someone who’d had too much, always made sure people had rides or called a cab, and she’d even seen him stop a woman from getting roofied once. Then she’d watched as he called the cops and held the jackass down until they arrived to haul his ass away.

Honestly, she’d gotten a little excited at his display of heroism that night.

“You’re a good man, Delta.”

“Thanks, Sassy, but you just have to say that because I’m marrying you.”

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