Page 2 of Turn Up The Heat

“Uh, sweetie, maybe you should call him,” Holly offered.

This time, Bellamy’s laugh came out more like a nervous croak. “First of all, that’s going to be kind of hard seeing as how both of my phones are tied up at the moment. Secondly, he’s clearly on the air right now, saying something that’s making the two of you lose your marbles.” Cradling the receiver to her ear with one shoulder, she ran a hand over the tightness suddenly growing there. Derek could be a little…well, self-absorbed, but even he would never move away without saying something to her.

“Google him, or grab the live stream from the station’s website or something,” Holly tried again. “Because I’m telling you, I’m not making this up.”

Bellamy’s heart skipped in her chest, and not in the good way. “You want me to Google my own boyfriend to prove that he’s not moving to California?”

“Yes,” Holly said at the same time Jenna yelled, “No!Bellamy, don’t—”

Too late.

Bellamy’s heart did the pitter-patter-holy-shit in her chest as her eyes focused on Channel Eight’s home page. The headlineAnchorman Derek Patterson Bids Philadelphia A Fond Farewellwas splashed over a handsome headshot that was all too familiar.

Her boyfriend was moving to California, and—while he’d managed to tell the entire metropolitan area—he hadn’t toldhera damned thing.

* * *

There weren’ta whole lot of places Shane Griffin would rather be than up to his elbows in an engine block. He swiped a flannel-clad forearm past his eyes in an effort to relocate the swath of black hair that had fallen into them.

No luck. He needed a haircut like nobody’s business.

The side door to the garage swung open, bringing with it a nasty wind and a soft, steady footfall that Shane could recognize from a coma. He straightened up from the frame of the 1969 Mustang Mach 1 in front of him, wincing.

“Damn, Grady! You’re bringing some nasty weather with you,” Shane called out, tipping his head in the old man’s direction.

Grady gave up a gravelly chuckle. “We’re in the Blue Ridge, son. That weather’s part of the territory now that it’s winter. And I ain’t bringin’ it with me. Somethin’s comin’ down the pike all on its own. Feels like a doozy, too.”

Shane shook his head and laughed, flexing his stiff fingers. “Whatever you say. I don’t go for that superstitious crap.” Man, Grady bought into all of that stuff, right down to using the twinge in his knee to predict the snowfall. Like the whole warm-front-meets-cold-front thing had nothing to do with it.

Come to think of it, Grady’s accuracywaskinda freaky, though.

“You’re young. You’ll figure it out eventually,” Grady quipped in his gruff voice. “You still messin’ with that Mustang?”

“Yup. I finished Mrs. Teasdale’s Lincoln, so I figured you wouldn’t mind. You know that thing’s older than I am,” Shane grumbled.

“So’s the car you’re workin’ on,” Grady quipped.

Hell if he didn’t have a point.

“Yeah, but the Mach 1 is a classic. Mrs. Teasdale’s Continental is more of an antique.” Shane eyed the Lincoln through the filmy windows of the garage. The thing was built like a Sherman tank and was about as pretty.

“Gets her from point A to point B just fine.” Grady leaned against the rickety wooden workbench that ran the length of the far wall, blowing into the cup of coffee he’d just poured.

“It does now,” Shane corrected with a smirk. It had taken him the better part of yesterday to get that carburetor straight, but right about now, the car could do everything short of sing show tunes. Thing ran like the day it rolled off the lot.

In 1979.

Grady eyed him, his demeanor changing slightly. “Listen, kid. You got another call from that loan office. Something about your payment going up. I left the message on the machine in the back room. Thought you’d wanna know.”

Great. As if the promise of bad weather wasn’t bad enough to wreck Shane’s day.

“Thanks, Grady. I’ll figure something out.” Okay, now Shane was just plain talking out of his ass. A hundred and fifty grand wasn’t exactly something you justfigured out, which was why he’d been dodging the messages the loan officer had been leaving on his cell phone.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, tempted to tell his five o’clock shadow that it was only ten in the morning.

Guess that was yesterday’s fiver. Oh well. It wasn’t like Shane had anybody to impress.

“I’d pay you more if I could,” Grady said quietly. “You’re worth every damn penny. You practically run the place.”

---