Ash tugged on his jeans and turned around as he buttoned them. “That gym class became the stuff of legend—at least among the middle-school male population.”

“Ugh. I remember. Bouncy Breslin. God, I hated that name.” By that time, she’d already been self-conscious that she’d developed early. Plus, she hadn’t discovered the wonders of the supportive sports bra yet. A bunch of hormonal twelve-year-old boys gawking at her as she ran had made it so much worse.

“Kids are jerks,” he said with a shake of his head. “If I remember correctly, I was Assface Ashton at the time because my skin had broken out so badly. At least it was a break from the teasing about my glasses.” He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t know how anyone walks out of middle school alive.” As soon as the words were out, he cringed and ran a hand over the back of his dark hair. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

And there it was. The shared history that they could never shake. Both tied to it like a ball and chain around their collective ankles. A lot of those kids who’d teased them hadn’t made it out of school alive. It’d just taken until high school to be handed that death sentence.

“Yeah, I know.” She wet her lips and glanced at the door. “Well, I better get going. I need to call the client and let them know the apartment is taken for…how long exactly?”

Ash’s expression shuttered, and he looked away. “Not entirely sure. A couple of months, maybe. This book is going to take a while.”

She glanced at the boxes that littered the area near the kitchen. “Is Melanie staying in New York to work?”

His eyes met hers briefly. “Yeah.”

“So the wedding next summer?”

He turned to his suitcase again and dug around, pulling a shirt out. “On hold.”

Kincaid felt her brows lifting, but she held her tongue and didn’t ask more questions—a Herculean feat for her. She mentally gave herself a gold star. “Oh. Well, okay. Guess I’ll hold onto that bread maker I was planning on giving y’all.”

He peeked over his shoulder, his nose wrinkled. “A bread maker?”

She smiled. “What? Everyone loves bread.”

“Melanie’s gluten-free.”

“Oh,” Kincaid said, all wide-eyed innocence. “Is she? I didn’t realize that. Poor thing. No bread? Bless her heart.”

Ash shook his head, biting his lip and turning away. “You’re a bad liar. Bless her heart? I haven’t been away so long that I forgot what that means in Kincaid-speak.”

She watched him as he tugged on a long-sleeved T-shirt, covering up all that beautifully inked skin. “It’s been fourteen years. I’d say that’s plenty long.”

“Not long enough,” he muttered.

“What?”

He turned suddenly, demeanor stiffening. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I need to get some work done.”

“Of course.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her jacket. “I’ll get out of your way. I would say sorry about the whole throwing-a-vase-at-your-head thing, but really, that wasn’t my fault. A woman has to protect herself.”