“I don’t understand.” Heather glanced between Brek, Jase, Babushka, and Ethan.
“He means, it’s not fixable,” Jase confirmed. “I mean, it’s fixable. Everything’s fixable. But it’ll be too expensive. A bent frame is going to total the van.”
Brek nodded in agreement. “I have a guy who can take a look. But it’s bent as all shit under there. There’s no way this isn’t totaled.”
Heather’s mouth dropped, her pretty raspberry lips turning pale.
Babushka sat against the bumper of her Buick and pulled a peppermint candy from her bag. She carefully unwrapped it, popped it in her mouth, and glared daggers at Heather. “Tell me, vill you break all the hearts in the neighborhood? Or just my grandson’s?”
Heather seemed to choke on air. Jase didn’t have a mirror, but he knew his eyes were definitely huge. Babushka could not seriously be bringing this up right now.
“He’s really upset about it all,” Babushka continued. “You vill fix things.”
Heather stared at Babushka. “Jase is upset…because we broke up?” She was still doing that calm thing. The one that did not bode well for anyone within a five-foot radius. Namely, him.
“You and Jase?” Velma asked, clearly confused. “Really?”
Why would it be such a shock if they’d hooked up?
He slid his gaze to Brek.
Brek, who obviously wasn’t buying any of it.
“Heather? Can I have a word?” Jase jerked his head toward Velma’s Prius, and started in that direction.
Heather followed. Silent. Too silent.
Jase hadn’t expected his grandmother to approach Heather. He hadn’t expected her to get revenge by smashing her van. He’d expected she’d let it go. He’d expected her to mind her own goddamned business and let him live his life.
He should’ve known better.
They reached Velma’s Prius.
Heather crossed her arms, leaned against the edge of the trunk, and waited. Her gaze bore into his.
He knew this game. First one to talk lost.
Fuck it. “I told Babushka you broke my heart so she’d lay off her insistence that I need to meet someone. I had no idea she’d go all Cruella de Vil on you.”
“So, this is your fault?” Heather waved a hand toward the van. “This is what you meant when you said your family goes a ‘little nutty’ about your relationship status. You did this to me? You did this to my cookie?”
Here it came. Where was a goddamned bomb suit when he needed one?
“I don’t even know what to say right now.” Her voice was getting pitchy. Raising with each word. “I mean, this is outrageous. You’ve totaled my van via your grandmother. I didn’t even know that was a thing.” She paced away from him. Then back. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God. My van is trashed.” Her finger pressed against his sternum. “I sold everything I own to open this shop. I sold my car to buy that van.” And she was yelling. “Now, it’s gone because you couldn’t tell your grandmother you didn’t want to date anyone?”
He nodded and pressed at the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up.”
Three words a guy never wanted to say.
The fight deflated out of her. She just stared at him.
“I don’t suppose at this point there is any way you’ll play along with the breakup so they will, in fact, lay off?” he asked.
“Your grandmother just took out my van.” Heather tossed her arm toward the totaled van in illustration. “And you want me to pretend we were together?”
Not quite. “I want you to pretend we broke up.”
“Because you don’t want a girlfriend?” She crossed, then uncrossed, her arms and propped them behind her on the side of the trunk. “And you’re too scared to actually stand up to your grandmother.”
