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this point, because I can’t use my house for collateral. I’ve got a mortgage on it.”

I paused, “I don’t have anything of value I can sell. I bought my car used and that was eight years ago. I don’t think it’s legal to sell a kidney,” I gave a bitter laugh.

“So all you need is collateral?”

“Yeah, that’s all,” I said sarcastically. “Which is like saying all I need is a long-lost rich uncle to leave me a fortune or all I need is my rat bastard landlord to feel generous and give me the building for my birthday. Pretty damn impossible.”

“What’s the purchase price? I mean, I could lend you the money myself.”

“No. That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not borrowing money from you. What if something happened and I couldn’t pay you back?”

“You mean what if you suddenly became a very different person and started racking up credit card debt with all your tropical vacations and spray tans and flashy jewelry? You have an eight-year-old used car and a one-bedroom house. You’re at that shop every waking hour and you’re one of the most responsible people I know.”

“Look, it’s a nice thought, but no thank you. I wouldn’t be comfortable doing that. And it’s not your job to solve all my problems. But thank you for offering,” I said, flustered, wanting to run out the door and hide. He offered to loan me the money? Who does that?

“Not all your problems. Just the financial one. What other problems do you have?”

“Um, let’s see. My car has an oil leak. My mom wanted me to get married like two years ago. I can’t find my garage door opener. That’s about it.”

“Trixie,” he said. For one second, I didn’t hate my name like I always had. “For one thing, I can take a look at the oil leak and probably fix it for you. My house is paid off. I inherited it free and clear from my grandpa. I’ve never had a house payment so I have a lot of savings. I can help you out. “

“Really? Then why don’t you just marry me and find my garage door opener while you’re at it?” I joked.

“Okay,” he said without hesitation.

Wait. What the hell just happened?

6 Damon

We stared at each other like we’d just been in an accident and didn’t know quite what had happened.

She’d jokingly proposed, and I’d readily accepted. That was unexpected, to say the least. I knew she was joking. I registered her sarcasm even as she said it. But I still said okay. What did that mean?

Trixie shook her head. “I was just kidding, Damon.”

I glanced down at the table, at her hand, pale and small. I felt a shift, some strange urge to protect her. I covered her hand with mine. As soon as I did, I felt a jolt like electricity, a kick in my blood from the contact. I held her cold hand in mine, warmed it. She was holding my hand back, her fingers laced through mine. I kept looking at them, the way my tanned, work-roughened skin looked against her paler, softer hand. Her eyes met mine, and I could tell she felt the same shock that I had.

I pulled my hand away. “Why not? We’re consenting adults. If we were married, you could use my house as collateral to secure the loan. We could use some of my savings for the down payment.”

“No way. This is crazy,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that? Just offer to freaking marry someone so they could get a loan and save their business?”

“It wouldn’t have to be a real marriage. Just—like a marriage of convenience. People married for property all the time back in the day. It wouldn’t be forever—I don’t expect you to like, bear me five healthy sons or some archaic shit like that. We’d just stay married until you had the loan for the building and the repairs and got back on your feet. It’s not like you wouldn’t make the payments on the loan. I trust you. You’re not going to get my house repossessed or something.”

“Why, Damon?” she asked again, and I heard her voice crack.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I had a house given to me—don’t get me wrong, Laura inherited Grandad’s Caddy and sold it to buy a new car and stuff—but not everybody gets that handed to them. It’s like I had a head start, so I can comfortably help someone else out. You’re in a bind, and it isn’t any trouble to—”

“It isn’t any trouble to marry me?” she asked. “Nope. No way. Giving me a ride home, that’s no trouble, or picking up a gallon of milk for your mom is no trouble. Marriage—as in joined in legal wedlock, plus putting up your house as collateral to save my business—that’s a lot of trouble. No one is that nice, and there’s no way you have, like, middle-class guilt or something.”

I was losing her, and I wanted to keep fighting. “It might be fun; did you think of that? I get to help out a friend, probably get brownie points with my mom…”

“Oh, and I’m sure our moms would totally understand our in-name-only marriage to get me a business loan, Damon. This is insane.”

“A little, but all my best ideas are.”

She just looked at me, her mouth open, her head shaking from side to side.

“Trixie, let me help you.”

She sighed and shook her head again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really? Or are you just trying to humor me?”

“This is a crazy idea,” she stated.

I nodded my head. “I know.”

“Like completely insane. Like certifiable.”

“Sounds like me,” I teased.

“I don’t know, Damon,” she hesitated.

Just like that I was holding her hand again, “Let me help you, Trix,” I said.

She met my eyes and all the air whooshed out of her lungs like I’d taken her breath away. She gave a rueful smile that made me want to do a

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