Page 84 of Turning Up the Heat

“I think she wants to. She asked if we could do the long-distance thing.”

“And?” Ryder asked.

“I don’t know. Seems complicated.”

“And you’re more of an easy kinda guy,” Ryder said, chuckling.

I punched him in the bicep. “Dude. This isn’t funny.”

“With a good sense of humor.” He grinned at me.

“Shut up. Seriously.”

“Right. Serious.” Ryder exhaled, rearranging his face, his lips a straight line. “So what’sthe real issue: the long-distance thing, her career, or the ex-boyfriend?”

“Hmmm,” I said, sitting back and crossing my arms. “All of the above. And the fact that she didn’t tell me about it.”

“What’s the ex like?”

“I’m not a fan. He’s metro, with that kind of city model look girls go for, I guess. He clearly still has a thing for Delaney. And she never even mentioned him.”

“Did you tell her all the details about Julia?” Ryder asked, raising a dark brow high.

I picked at the label on my bottle where condensation had lifted it from the glass, wishing I hadn’t engaged in this conversation at all. I hated talking about my feelings.

“No.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Ryder asked.

I shrugged. “Not exactly. And he was her teacher, apparently.” I met my brother’s eyes as he let out a low whistle.

“Bet she got an ‘A’ in that class.”

I punched Ryder again. “Dude. Not helping.”

“Sorry. But I wouldn’t worry about him. She’s into you.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But trust isn’t really my thing.”

“Did you ever think about going with her?”

“What? No. I have a job here.”

“Right. And they don’t have fire departments in New York.”

“I have seniority at the station. I can’t leave. She did say it would probably be a year-long commitment, then she could come back to Peachtree Grove and someone else could manage the second bakery.”

“See? Problem solved. So you just have to trust her enough to go up there, set things up, and then come back.” Ryder set his beer down on the table, triumphant, like he’d solved global warming or something.

“It’s not that simple, Ryder. The ex is going to finance the bakery. So he’ll always have a hold on her.”

“Hmm. Sneaky. How much are we talking here?”

I scoffed. “No idea. Probably a lot of money. It’s NYC.”

“Delaney’s not going to leave you for him. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Quinn, is it?” Holden strode up to the table, a glass of scotch in his hand. He stuck out like a sore thumb, in his tight, skinny black jeans and white designer T-shirt. Probably cost more than my month’s rent.

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