This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,33

after not seeing her for two weeks is like a warm spring after a long, cold winter. Talking to her on the phone every day has been fantastic, but nothing like being next to her.

Abby lifts her head, and I see profound sorrow in her eyes. I touch her arm. “What’s the matter?”

“Zach … can we talk?”

Uh-oh. The three little words no guy wants to hear. My chest suddenly feels like someone dumped a load of bricks on it.

“Sure,” I say, sounding stupidly cheerful. “Come on.”

I take her hand and sneak her upstairs. Well, not exactly sneak. Austin sees us go. He opens his mouth to draw attention, but he catches my eye and closes it again. Sometimes my little brother can be astute, and compassionate.

I lead Abby down the hall to my old room. Dad has long since made it into a library for himself, but whenever I need a retreat in the house, I gravitate here.

I close the door against the noise downstairs, additionally muffled by Dad’s books and desk full of papers. Abby starts to speak, but I forestall her by drawing her into my arms.

Am I trying to stop her breaking up with me? Or comforting her? Or do I just want to touch her, breathe her in, have her against me?

All three, I think.

“I quit my job.” Abby’s voice is muffled in my shirt.

I rub her back. “Oh.” We’re silent a moment. “Help me out here. Isn’t this a good thing? Or is it bad? Do I congratulate you? Or commiserate? If you want honesty, I think you’re better than that soul-sucking job that was making you unhappy.” I’ve already had some thoughts on that.

Abby raises her head, wiping her eyes. “Walking into Mr. Beale’s office and saying, more or less, You can’t fire me—I quit was awesome.” A tiny smile flits across her face.

“Then it’s a good thing.” I swallow. “Is this what you wanted to tell me? If so, I can jump up and punch the air now.”

She shakes her head, which brings back the specter of worry. “Brent also called me. You remember Brent? The head-hunter? Well, he offered me a job at his company.”

She doesn’t look as happy as she should. I tread carefully. “Okay, I’m supposed to say yay, right? He’s giving you an office with your own window and everything?”

“Yes.” Abby laughs a little, but that dies away quickly. “The window—it’s very important.” She meets my eyes, trepidation in hers. “The trouble is, that window, and the job, is in Los Angeles. I’m supposed to start on Wednesday.”

Chapter Eleven

Abby

Zach goes so very still that I wonder if he’s breathing. His chest barely rises and falls.

What I want is to go into his arms, hold him. Tell him I don’t want this to end—whatever this is. But a long-distance relationship? It works for some. That is, if both parties really and truly want the relationship to work, and if the separation is relatively short.

Zach has a great life here, is part of his family’s company, and is immersed in charity work, which he loves—I can hear it in his voice when he talks about it. I want to ask him to come to L.A. with me, but that would mean Zach leaving his home and all he cares about.

He clears his throat. “Los Angeles. I thought you didn’t want to move far from your mom.”

“I don’t. But she’s married and settled, happy. And L.A. is only an hour flight away.”

“That’s true.”

Zach has his hands on my arms, his fingers light. I fight to keep tears from my eyes. “So what do you think?” I ask shakily.

Zach stares at me so hard, I want to take a step back. Or hug him. Not sure which. A lump squeezes my throat.

“I think it’s wonderful for you,” Zach finally says. “Brent knows talent when he sees it. You deserve it.”

A nice, supportive thing to say. But my spirits plummet. He’s not begging me to stay. Or asking to come with me. Or blurting out, But what about us?

Maybe there is no us. A one-night-stand after a wedding, followed by an unexpected hook-up and a lot of phone calls. We’ve gotten to know each other well during those phone calls, probably better than if we’d talked in person. If we’d been in the same room, we’d have ended up in bed, not much talking happening.

I have to be realistic. We’ve begun a relationship, but it might be over before it gets off the ground.