She opened the back door, glanced wistfully at the stairs that led up to the apartment, and then shook her head. None of that. She unlocked the door to the store and slipped inside. All the lights had been turned off except for the red safety one in the hallway. She flicked on the hall light and dropped the keys back into her purse.

The familiar smell of books mixed with the fresh scent of the rosemary plants she’d added. She inhaled deeply, trying to imprint it on her memory. Her boots echoed on the wooden floor as she headed to the front of The Stuffed Shelf. She halted when she saw that the white twinkle lights that she’d twined with the dark-green pine garland decorating the store were on. Their subtle glow gave the darkened store a magical quality, as if she’d entered a secret chamber. But it gave her pause. Had Grace left these lights on all night? That was a fire hazard with all these books.

She headed toward the main light-switch panel, but a sound off to her left made her freeze. She turned her head, but she couldn’t see more than the shelf in front of her, the main desk area obscured. She strained her ears. A footstep.

Her throat tightened, and her hand reached out for a thick Stephen King hardback. She lifted it, ready to take aim, and backed up a step, trying to return to the hallway and the exit.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Shit. She gave up the stealth and darted toward the hallway, but a large shadow intercepted her, grabbing her. “K—”

She screamed and swung the book at her assailant.

“Ow!” The hands released her. “What the—”

She lunged toward the hallway, the book falling to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Dammit, KC,” the guy said, a grimace in his voice.

Her hand gripped the doorjamb, and something fluttered in her chest. KC. She flipped on the hallway light and spun. Ash was standing there with his hand pressed to the side of his face and a what-the-hell look.

Her lips parted in shock. “Ash.”

He smirked, his cheek already turning red from where she’d hit him. “You know, for someone who claims to carry pepper spray, you’re really into projectiles.”

Kincaid couldn’t move. Ash, whom she’d been blatantly stalking for the last two weeks, was standing there as if he’d never left. Dark-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans, and T-shirt that read They used to laugh and call me names with a picture of Rudolph in front of a wall of mounted antlers.

She couldn’t absorb this as reality. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “I never turned in my set.”

She stared. “I sent you, like, a thousand text messages.”

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“Ash,” she said, stepping forward and holding her hands out at her sides. “Why are you here?”

He gave her a small smile. “Because you sent me a thousand text messages. I got the impression you wanted to talk.”