“Where’s Liv?” Kincaid asked, donning oven mitts. She’d last talked to Liv when they’d left the farmhouse the other day. Liv had told her to go straight to the office and undo the rash mistake she’d made by putting in a verbal offer. Kincaid had nodded. Agreed.

Yep. Uh-huh. Of course.

Then she’d gone down to the office and signed the papers, guaranteeing the down payment.

“She was a few minutes behind us. She should be here any minute,” Rebecca said, plucking a piece of watermelon from the fruit salad Kincaid had left on the counter. “She called me on the way and said you were going to have quite a story to tell. What’s that about?”

Kincaid paused halfway to opening the oven. “What’s that now?”

“Something about a snotty real-estate agent and some haunted house,” Rebecca said, lifting a brow. “I sense a Kincaid story coming on.”

Taryn adjusted the hairband she’d used to push back her halo of curly black hair and smiled in delight. “Ooh, I love a Kincaid story.”

A Kincaid story. Yeah, her friends were used to those. Weird things tended to happen to her—or, well, maybe because of her. Really, who was keeping track? But the stories often got her friends laughing. She had a feeling this time her story wouldn’t go over quite like that. She pulled the last tray of biscuits from the oven and set them on a trivet. “Why don’t we wait for Liv?”

The front door opened and closed as if on cue, echoing into the kitchen. Liv strode into the room, her floppy bun bouncing with her steps. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Did I hear my name?”

Taryn gave Liv a quick side hug in greeting. “Yeah, we were just gearing up for a Kincaid story.”

Liv gave Kincaid a look, lips curving. “Is this the one where Kincaid almost accidentally bought a half-million-dollars-worth of haunted house to piss off a rival agent?”

Rebecca’s lips parted, amusement lifting the corners of her blue eyes. “Really?”

Kincaid stared at the expectant faces of her friends. “Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean not exactly?” Liv asked, clearly sensing Kincaid’s tone.

Kincaid looked down at her oven mitts, which had flying cartoon pigs all over them. “Well, this is more the story about when Kincaid actually does buy the half-million-dollar farmhouse, empties her savings to put a down payment on it, and now has to sell her cute little lake house because there’s no way she can afford two mortgages.”

Liv’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Kincaid cringed. “Well, see, what happened was—”

“Kincaid!” Shock filled Liv’s face. “You said you were going to the office to undo it.”

Kincaid bit her lip, words bubbling up. “I was. I really was. But by the time I got there, that annoying, let’s-turn-a-historic-home-into-a-minimalist-vortex couple had called to put in an offer, too. And Ferris needed me to make a decision and I just—” She looked to her other two friends, looking for support. “Y’all should see the house. It’s this beautiful farmhouse that needs to be restored and would make the cutest bed-and-breakfast, and this couple that was there—they had horrible taste and had coordinated their outfits. Who does that?”