Love Me Sweet (Bell Harbor, #3)

“Aw, Sis,” Reggie said. “Even I know your momma can’t keep a secret. What were you thinking, telling her?”


Sissy started to visibly bristle as she stared down at Reggie. “I was thinking that I was sitting around eating catfish and ribs with t-h-e-e Delaney Masterson, and even though my momma has never been impressed by anything I’ve ever done in all my life, she might be impressed if I told her that the same Delaney Masterson was in my hotel room, and wearing one of my blouses. So there. That’s what I was thinking.”

Now all the men were frowning at Sissy and Delaney knew that wasn’t fair. “Hey, it doesn’t matter, you guys. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility to keep my secret, and Sissy’s right. I was on Facebook. I was playing piano. I’ve been around in the lobby. Anyone could have seen me and figured it out. Trust me. If the press wants to find you, they find you. So now it is time for me to face them, but on my own terms.” Delaney stood up, feeling just slightly stronger than she had a moment ago. “I think it’s time for me to go home. I’ve finally got my wallet and phone and computer. There’s nothing keeping me in Memphis.”

“What about the cameraman?” Finch asked.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. Not here in front of everyone. But it was a fair question. What about the cameraman? What was she going to do about Grant?

“I think I’m on my own, Finch. He told me he was going back to Michigan with his mother. And since I’m heading to Beverly Hills, well, I guess that’s that.”

She didn’t believe that, though. Not for a second. Her heart wouldn’t let her. Grant might have said he didn’t care, but she knew he did, and he’d come back. He’d come back to the hotel so they could talk this through and she could make this right. Everything would be fine just as soon as he’d calmed down.




Delaney Masterson may have underestimated how long it would take for Grant Connelly to calm down. She’d heard nothing from him by late afternoon, and the longer she waited, the more awful she felt. Like ten-fatal-illnesses-all-at-once kind of awful. This was dread on top of regret on top of heartache, and it sucked.

When a knock sounded on the door around dinnertime, she let herself hope—but it was only Reggie.

“You look disappointed, honeybun. I’ll try not to take that personally. I brought you some spaghetti from the Jungle Room Lounge. I figured you’d be hungry by now, yeah?”

He stepped inside carrying a beige plastic tray with a covered plate on it, along with two beers.

“Thanks.” She wasn’t hungry, though. Her stomach had more knots in it than a baby hat knit with drumsticks, but she pointed to the table anyway, indicating he could set the tray there. She hoped both the beers were for her. Not because she didn’t want Reggie to stick around, but because she needed at least two of those right now.

“Any word from your cowboy?” Reggie asked, twisting off the top of one and handing her a bottle.

“No. I left him three messages but he hasn’t called back. I don’t think he’s going to.”

Saying it out loud made her heart feel like the iceberg that took down the Titanic, sharp, frozen, and accidentally destructive. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but her actions caused disaster.

She and Reggie sat down on the white vinyl sofa, and she pulled her legs up under her. “I even texted him saying I needed to book a flight home and wanted to talk to him before I left Memphis, but . . . nothing.”

“Did you book a flight?” Reggie took a sip of the other beer.

Delaney nodded. “Yes. I leave tomorrow at noon. I talked to my sister about an hour ago and told her I’d be home. She said the producers are anxious as hell to tape a special edition of Pop Rocks just to address all this crap as soon as I get home. Like a press conference. Getting the police involved in my search has taken this to a whole different level.” Her eyes puddled up, again.

She thought she’d cried out every bit of moisture in her body when she talked to Melody, but apparently she still had a little juice left. Out came the tears, twin streams of frustration rolling right down her cheeks, but she swiped them away. Delaney Masterson might be a runner and a hider, but darn it all, she was not a crier. She swiped those stupid, helpless tears away.

“Everything I’ve done has completely backfired, Reg, and now I’m getting more media attention than ever. I’m beginning to think the purpose of my life is to serve as a cautionary tale to others.”

Reggie chuckled and patted her leg in the most brotherly way. “Aw, sugar, don’t cry. Maybe you just need to figure out how to put a positive spin on things.” He grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and handed it to her.

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