He chuckled. “I think we can both live with that.”

“Good. Now let’s head up to the house.” She tugged him toward the main path. “I have a batch of cookies I can send home for you and your lady as a goat thank-you.”

“I’ll never turn down cookies.”

After Marco left, cookie tin in hand, Kincaid looked around the disorganized farmhouse and tried to decide where to even start. There was still a ton of boxes to unpack, and she needed to sit down and figure out some kind of budgeting plan. There was no way she could start renovations anytime soon. The money just wasn’t there. If the bookstore ever sold, she’d have something to get the house at least looking like a home, if not bed-and-breakfast ready. That would be something. The B and B portion of the plan would just have to wait a couple of years. She’d already put in for a meeting with a smaller realty company in Wilder. She’d get back into real estate and go on a hard-core savings plan.

She stared at the endless stacks of boxes in the living room. But before she could pick a pile to start with, there was a knock at the door. She checked the peephole and then swung open the door. Taryn greeted her with a broad smile, a backpack, and a bag of takeout from the Thai restaurant in town. “Shaw has a big event at the gym tonight that’s going to keep him out late. Can I be the first overnight guest at the B and B?”

Something loosened in Kincaid’s chest. Sometimes her friends had radar for when she needed them most. The lonely night of unpacking faded into the background. “That would be amazing.”

“Yay! Slumber party.” Taryn stepped past her and into the house, her smile falling as she took in the state of things. “Girl.”

Kincaid lifted her hands. “I know, I know. It looks worse than when y’all left. I was trying to come up with a system to organize everything but…so many boxes.” She shut the door. “I think they have sex at night and make box babies. The more I unpack, the more show up.”

Taryn snorted as she set down her backpack. “All right. New plan. We eat our takeout, and then we’re going to power through some of these boxes. You need some space to breathe, my friend.”

“God, do I.”

An hour later, they were in the middle of the living room, sorting. Taryn had tied her hair back with a bandanna and was in full mission mode—talking to Kincaid in her authoritative professor voice. “Box of craft supplies, mostly unopened.”

“Add it to the pile for bedroom three,” Kincaid said, setting a box of knickknacks in a different pile.

“If you’re not going to use something, you should just donate it,” Taryn said. “Remember what the last box of unfinished project stuff did to you. Fresh start, girl. Fresh start.”

Kincaid narrowed her eyes. “I like crafts. Bedroom three.”