“If you can get a good price for the store, we can help you with what you need,” Grace continued. “Be warned. It’s not going to be easy. The last appraisal we got on it was not promising. But I have faith in the two of you.”

Ash grimaced. If Graham was up in heaven, he’d sure as hell not want Ash taking his money. Ash should probably watch out for stray lightning bolts or swarms of locusts. “I don’t know anything about real estate, Grace.”

“No, hon, but you know books,” she replied. “You know what’s hot now and what’s selling. You’ve probably seen hundreds of modern bookshops in New York and around the world that you could draw inspiration from. Just make the place somewhere you’d want to hang out.”

“I already want to hang out there,” he answered.

“Aside from nostalgia, is that really true?” she pressed. “Would Ashton Stone, thriller writer extraordinaire, want to host a book signing there?”

Ash thought about the current dusty, cramped state of the store. The too-dim lights. The worn furniture. “Maybe?”

Grace lifted a brow, making her point. The woman had missed her calling as a lawyer. “Then it’s settled. We’re putting you two in charge. You can close the shop while you evaluate things. The sooner we get moving on this, the better. Now”—she slapped her hands on her thighs and pushed herself up from her seat—“who’s ready for muffins?”

Ash looked over to Kincaid as Grace busied herself with the muffins. Kincaid gave him a wary look and then touched his knee. “Hey, I could go for some coffee. Ash, why don’t you help me in the kitchen? I can’t carry four mugs at once.”

Ash blinked at her bright tone, but Kincaid gave him a tight, don’t-you-dare-question-me smile. He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

He stood and Kincaid hurried into the kitchen, her boots click-click-clicking on the hardwood. When they both reached the kitchen, she whirled around, blond hair swinging like a curtain around her. “What in the hell are we doing?”

Seven

Ash raked a hand through his hair at Kincaid’s exasperated tone. What in the hell were they doing? “I don’t know. How are we supposed to say no?”

“How can we say yes?”

“They need our help,” he replied, determination hardening his words. “I know this isn’t…an ideal situation, but I would literally do anything for Grace and Charlie. I’m not going to say no.”

“Listen to what you’re saying. You really want to spend the next month cleaning up The Stuffed Shelf with me? Think about that, Ash.”

He scowled.

“Besides the fact that we…are what we are these days, I can’t even go in there anymore without”—she looked away, jaw flexing—“without remembering…”

Graham. She didn’t say it but she didn’t have to. They both had so many memories tied up in that little shop. Ash’s were of her. Hers were of Graham. His defensiveness deflated. “I understand. Look, if it’s too hard for you, I can handle getting the store ready. I can do it alone. I’m stuck in writer’s block with my book anyway. It will give me thinking time. You can just focus on selling the place.”