Page 42 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I was supposed to meet Cassie here half an hour ago to go over wedding plans and she hasn’t shown.” He gave a casual shrug that he totally didn’t feel.

“Did you call her?”

No, he hadn’t. He didn’t want to seem desperate or clingy even though that’s exactly what he felt at the moment. Cassie rarely showed up late to anything. She was a very punctual person. ‘If you’re not five minutes early, you’re five minutes late’ had always been her motto. Whenever she did run late, she called or texted to let everyone know. This just wasn’t like her.

Unless she’s having second thoughts.

He shoved the idea away. She needed this to work as much as he did. Charlie had made up with her, he had soothed her worries about her witch of a cousin, everything was going great.

If everything is great where is she?

Glancing up at the clock again, he noticed two minutes had gone by. Fantastic.

He opened his mouth to say—hell if he had an explanation for not just calling her—but was saved by the chime of his cell.

“Excuse me.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he exhaled his first relieved breath in the last forty minutes. “It’s Cassie.”

Penny smiled, going back to her computer.

Reading the text, Del’s relief vanished. Worry settled in his chest, squeezing all air from his lungs.

Sick. Can’t make it today.

The brief explanation had his mind whirling. Could she still be sick from yesterday? If so, that was one mighty hangover.

“Everything okay?” Penny asked, gaze still focused on her laptop.

“Cassie’s sick.”

“Oh.” The clicking stopped. “Does she need anything?”

“Don’t know, but I’m going to go check on her.” She couldn’t come to him, but he would sure as hell go to her. Make certain she was okay. That’s what fiancés were supposed to do, right?

Heading out of Jack’s, he hurried to Cassie’s place, flying over the porch steps as he rushed to her front door. After a quick knock, he waited. And waited. Worry growing; he knocked again, louder this time. The sound of shuffled footsteps could be heard from beyond the door.

“Whoever it is, go away!”

Her shout made him smile. “No can do, Sassy.”

His smile died when the door opened and he got a good look at her. She didn’t look hungover. She looked sick. Very sick.

“Cassie?”

“Noooo, of course it had to be you.”

She turned, walking back into the house, door wide open. Del took it for an invitation and followed her in, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m not okay!” She whirled back around, losing her balance. He reached out, grasping her arm to keep her steady. “I feel like crap.”

She looked like crap—adorable crap—but still crap. Her face was bright with a splotchy flush, sweat dripped off her forehead, and her spiral locks were a tangled, frizzy mess. Poor woman looked like she’d been put through the ringer.

“I finally got over the hangover from hell yesterday, and then this morning I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck.”

He pulled her closer, placing a hand on her forehead. Her skin burned like fire. Concern gnawed at him.

“Do you have a thermometer?”

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