Grace paused as though she knew exactly the amount of bullshit he was feeding her, but she didn’t call him on it. “Good. And I’m not going to get involved, but I’ll just say that if Melanie is going to be the type of woman to see another man behind your back, better she showed herself now and not after the wedding. I say, good riddance. She had terrible taste in books anyway.”

Ash laughed, the sound surprising him. “Egregious taste.”

“See? You’ve saved yourself a lot of future heartache. Now, Charlie is planning on fried chicken, coleslaw, and macaroni for when you get here,” she said, making it clear he didn’t need to discuss the demise of his relationship with her beyond that. “You have any special requests for dessert?”

His stomach rumbled at the thought of Charlie’s food. “Tell him not to go to any trouble. I already appreciate y’all letting me stay in the apartment above the store while I finish this book. You both have already done enough.”

More than he’d ever in his life have time to thank them for.

“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re family. And with all your world traveling, we haven’t seen you since last Christmas. That calls for a homecoming meal.”

Homecoming. Home.

His gut twisted, the hunger turning into something more acidic. He looked forward to seeing Grace and Charlie. They were the kind of family he’d always wished he’d had, and they treated him like he was one of their own. But the thought of rolling back into his hometown with an unwritten book, no contract, and no good idea of when he could leave again made every inch of his skin itch. He’d sworn he’d never return for more than a holiday visit with the Lowells. That he’d never let the grass grow under his feet in that smothering small town again.

Since he’d left for college, he’d traveled and lived in so many interesting places. He’d become a writer. He’d formed a new identity, a new story. Back home, no matter what he’d accomplished, he’d just be Ashton Isaacs again. The disappointing, estranged son of Pete Isaacs, revered high-school football coach. Survivor of the Long Acre High tragedy. The guy who bailed on a town in mourning and didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back.

Ash tucked his phone into his back pocket after wrapping up the call and ran a hand over his face. Anxiety was welling up in him like an old friend. Part of him wanted to ditch the whole plan. Just suck it up, give up the writing gig, and go find a random job in some low-cost-of-living town. But even as he thought it, his shoulders sagged. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. He’d lost his fiancée. He didn’t want to lose his dream career, too.

Long Acre came with baggage. So much baggage. But right now, it also came with a rent-free apartment and the kind of quiet atmosphere that could lend itself to getting through this writer’s block. As long as he stayed out of the way, he could avoid his parents and the trappings that came with going back to that town where people knew who you were before you were a grown-up.