“You think? I’m not done yet, though.”

“What?”

Kincaid took his hand, leading him to the last room. “Just one more room.”

“What are we going to call this one?” he asked, peering in.

She stepped inside the room and grabbed what she’d stashed behind the door. She handed him the last plaque. He gave her a startled look. “The Ashton? I don’t need my own room, KC. I plan to spend every night in the Kincaid.”

She snorted. “Never with that joke again. That was your one allowance and now it’s used up.”

He chuckled. “No promises.”

She pressed her hand over the plaque. “I wanted to give this room your name. A percentage of proceeds from this room are going to the local women’s shelter.”

He blinked at her, and then the meaning dawned on him. His features softened. “KC.”

She looped her arms around his neck and gave him a serious look. “I know it hurts you that you can’t help your mother like you want, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help at all. The money you got from your parents built this place, but I want it to do more. I want it to help people like your mom.”

He gave her a tender look that nearly broke her in two. He cupped her face and kissed her gently. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are the most wonderful woman in the whole world?”

She smiled. “All the time. Every day. I was thinking of getting a name tag with that on it.”

“You should,” he said and kissed her again. “Because it’s absolutely true. I love you, Kincaid Breslin Isaacs.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest as he embraced her. “I love you back, writer boy. Forever.”

* * *

Hours later, the farmhouse was dark and quiet except for the wind rustling the trees outside. The scent of the roast Kincaid had made for dinner hung in the air, and moonlight shone through the windows. Ash was sleeping soundly at her side, the covers thrown off him and his chest rising and falling in the silver light. She leaned over and gave him a barely there kiss on his shoulder. He stirred a little but didn’t wake up.

Kincaid peeked at the clock. One in the morning. It was time.

She climbed out of the plush four-poster bed and tugged on pajama pants and wool-lined booties. She grabbed a bag from the closet where she’d stored what she needed and then quietly exited the room. The hallway was dimly lit and empty.

As part of the remodel, they’d sectioned off the owners’ suite and a few rooms of their own on the first floor for privacy. She padded down the hall in silence and stepped into the main part of the house. The lights still glowed on the Christmas tree, and a few electric candles were flickering.

She looked out the window and saw the lick of real flames. She smiled, grabbed her coat, and slipped out the front door. The night sky was crystal clear, filled with stars, and a full moon shone down on them. She could remember a night so much like this fifteen years ago when she and her friends had written those letters, shoved them in a jar, and buried their hopes.