He could travel the world.

Get a nice place.

Move on.

Move on. Right. Two out of three would have to be good enough.

“So when do you think you’ll head down to Mexico?” she asked, looking down at her menu.

Ash peeked at his phone and its absence of messages. Not that he’d expected Kincaid to call. She didn’t owe him a damn thing. But he’d let a little bit of hope burn for the first few days afterward. Maybe she could forgive him. Maybe she loved him back, and they could work through it. That candle of hope had officially burned out.

He’d lost her. As a friend. And as more.

He squinted toward the bright window, watching people hustle by on the street, wondering what they were rushing off to, wondering if he’d ever have anything to rush toward again. “As soon as possible.”

Twenty-Eight

Kincaid stood in front of the newly built pen on her property and grinned down at Barry and Beula, who were currently nosing around everything and exploring. “What do you think of the new digs, kids?”

Beula bleated, the obnoxious goaty sound growing on Kincaid, and nudged Barry out of the way so she could climb up on a big tractor tire that had been half buried in the ground. Beula looked mighty pleased that she could get higher up than her mate.

Marco laughed and leaned on the railing. “I think the company you used to build the pen did a great job. They have their own little obstacle course. That will keep them stimulated. They look happy to be back home.”

Kincaid sighed. “I think their place is nicer than mine right now.”

Marco glanced back at the main house. “Well, yours is a little bit bigger project. You’ll get there, though. Just take it one step at a time. Once you get everything unpacked, it’ll start to feel more like home. Boxes have a way of making everything feel unfinished.”

Kincaid groaned. “There are a lot of unpacked boxes in my life right now.”

His dimple appeared, reminding her how handsome the guy was. A wistful feeling went through her. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Marco instead? That would’ve been so much easier, would’ve made much more sense.

“How are you feeling about being a goat mama?” he asked, shifting his attention back to the animals, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze.

“Excited. I’ve never had pets before. My mom was staunchly anti-animal.” Which had probably been a blessing to the animals. Her mom had barely remembered to feed her. “I really appreciate all the notes and stuff you sent me and for bringing over some supplies. I owe you a home-cooked meal.”

“Ah, lucky me,” he said, looking over at her. “Ms. Kincaid Breslin’s cooking is the stuff of legend.”

She propped her arms on the railing next to him. “And I’m sorry about taking a while to get back to you when you called after our date. I didn’t mean to ghost you.”