But the wicked part of her mind was putting together a PowerPoint presentation of what-ifs. What if the circumstances were different? What if Ash lived here? Would she still want to keep these lines drawn? Could she see this turning into more?

The thoughts were stupid. The circumstances weren’t different. Ash staying here would mean him giving up his dreams. She would never want him to do that. And she wouldn’t give up hers to go travel the world with him. Maybe in an alternate universe their paths lined up and they could have something more than friendship, but in this one, they were on decidedly different journeys. They were meant to be friends. Who loved each other.

Ash, who’d turned to look at the chalkboard menu after the couple had gone in front of them, looked her way again. “You okay?”

She forced nonchalance. “Yep. Just hungry.”

For so many things.

They got their order and then headed into the main dining area to find a place to sit. Picnic tables of varying lengths filled the space in a haphazard pattern, and the dance floor stretched out on the left. A few older couples were already two-stepping, and a group of tween girls were trying a line dance.

Kincaid recognized a number of folks at tables as they passed and gave little waves and hellos. For a moment, she thought she saw Sam Caldone, but it ended up being a guy with a similar cowboy hat. Thank God. She’d have to see Sam one day. You couldn’t escape anyone for long in a town this size, but she was happy that time wasn’t tonight.

Along the back wall, a bunch of tables had been pushed together to make one long one, and it was filled with rowdy high-school-age boys. “It’s going to be loud at that end,” she said as they stopped to fill up their glasses with iced tea at the drink station.

“Not sure there are any other spots,” Ash said, holding their tray of food. “And really, with the music, it’s going to be loud wherever we sit.”

She nodded and followed him toward the raucous boys, but as they squeezed by the table, a woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Ashton?”

The bewildered voice somehow cut through the din, and Kincaid almost ran into Ash as he froze. They both turned, and Kincaid’s stomach plummeted when she saw the wide-eyed face staring back at her.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

Kincaid’s emergency broadcasting system kicked in, pasting a smile on her face and inserting enthusiasm into her voice. “Mrs. Isaacs,” she said way too peppily. “How are you?”

But Ash’s mother’s gaze was still locked on her son, her fingers tight around her glass of whatever she’d gotten to drink.

Kincaid glanced toward Ash, who’d gone pale. His gaze jumped from his mother to Kincaid and then back. He cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom.”

Mrs. Isaacs put her hand to her chest, and her eyes went shiny. “Ashton.”