As if on cue, somewhere off in the distance, cows mooed. Poor, traumatized cows. God knows what they’d seen.

“I wish I could punch this idiot all over again.” Ash lowered the tailgate of Charlie’s pickup with care, and they put their hands over their noses in unison. The stench was breath-stealing.

Kincaid tossed him a pair of work gloves from the shopping bag full of supplies she’d grabbed from the truck. “This is both the best and worst idea we’ve ever had.”

“Agreed. It’s definitely the shittiest.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “Really, Ash?”

He gave her an innocent look. “What? I’ve been waiting the whole drive to use that one.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed him. “But thank you for this. Feels like old times. Just more dangerous and with kissing.”

He tugged on her ponytail, affection humming inside him. “We’re living our best life right now.”

“We so are. Oprah would be proud.” She bounced on her toes and did a quick silent clap. “Let’s do this.”

Warmth filled him. She looked so alive there in the moonlight. Beautiful in a way he’d forgotten. When he’d left, he’d convinced himself that he’d been seeing her through a teenage crush filter, exaggerating things that weren’t there. But in this moment, he’d realized he’d been lying to himself. Kincaid was exactly what she’d always been—the best girl he’d ever known. “I’ll do the lifting. You cut the bags open.”

She pulled on her gloves and grabbed a pair of heavy-duty shears from the bag, a gleam in her eyes. “Time to get dirty.”

Ash started transferring the bags into the back of Sam’s truck. Kincaid stood on the bumper and sliced the bags open and dumped them in. He’d wondered if she’d regret the plan once the stench filled the garage. Manure wasn’t like the dog food scheme in high school. But she was tough and running high on revenge adrenaline. They worked through all the bags in record time, quiet as thieves. By the time they were done, they were both sweaty and stinky but feeling victorious.

Kincaid looked at her work with delight and then hopped down from the bumper, making the truck bounce. She pulled the gloves off and tossed them into the back of Charlie’s truck to dispose of later. “God, I wish I could see his face when he gets out here in the morning.”

“He’ll smell it way before he sees it.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Where’s the chalk marker?”

Ash pulled it from the shopping bag near his feet and handed it to her. “You do the honors, Ms. Breslin.”

Kincaid grabbed the white chalk marker and hustled on quiet feet to the front of Sam’s truck. She stepped onto the wheel well, stretched out to reach the windshield, and wrote, SAM CALDONE IS FULL OF SHIT.

Ash choked on his laugh, trying to keep as silent as he could.

She jumped down and sent him a crooked smile. His heart flipped over.