Kincaid’s lips curved. “His heart may have some issues, but his hearing’s as good as a bat’s. The muffins have flax,” she called out to him. “You’ve been warned.”

“Flax?” Charlie said as if the word were from a foreign language. “I don’t know what that is, but bring some butter with them.”

“No butter,” Grace announced to Charlie and then poked Ash in the shoulder. “No butter for him, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ash couldn’t help but laugh as he carried the food into the kitchen. Charlie had scared the hell out of him the other day. It was good to hear the guy demanding baked goods.

After Ash had put away the food that needed to be refrigerated, he brought out a plate of molasses brown muffins, the smell of warm spices making his stomach rumble. The living room was big, with high-beamed ceilings and tall windows that looked out onto the rolling green of the backyard and the pool. Yet Grace had made the place cozy with cushy, dark leather furniture and soft lamplight. Charlie was propped up in a recliner, still looking worn and pale, but the glint in his eyes was back. Grace was in a nearby chair, staying within arm’s length of her husband. Kincaid had taken the couch, her legs crossed, her knee-high boot bouncing with nervous energy.

Ash set the muffins on the coffee table, his skin prickling with a weird electric awareness. Something was off about the way the Lowells were looking at him and Kincaid.

“Thank you,” Grace said and motioned toward the couch. “Sit. We’ll eat in a minute. We wanted to talk to you both first.”

Ash took the spot next to Kincaid. She smelled like the muffins mixed with her own familiar scent, a vanilla lotion she’d been using for as long as he’d known her. Part of him wanted to take a deeper inhale—the stupid, totally driven-by-instinct part of him. He resisted leaning any closer, and she gave him a do-you-know-what-this-is-about look. He shrugged.

Grace glanced back and forth between the two of them, expression pensive. “First, I want you both to know that what we’re going to discuss is not a decision we made lightly. It’s something we’ve been thinking about for a while. Charlie’s heart scare has just…made the decision easier.”

Ash’s jaw tightened, her tone making him nervous. It was a tone similar to the one Melanie had used when she’d sat him down and said, We need to talk about the wedding. “What decision?”

“Well,” Grace said, folding her hands in her lap, her voice as calm as ever. “As you know, the bookstore has been a treasure to us for a very long time. It has been our livelihood, yes, but also our passion. Running the store has given us so much joy and has supported us through good and very bad times. It also brought the two of you into our lives. Into our son’s life.”

Ash’s muscles tensed.

“It will always be special to us. But,” Grace continued, “we can no longer fool ourselves into thinking we’re as young and spry as we used to be. Running a business is a huge responsibility and a heck of a lot of work, especially when the market has changed and the store’s not bringing in as much as it once was. We’ve had to change a lot of our offerings, cut back staff, and do a lot of work ourselves.”