She found Ash sitting behind the checkout counter, feet propped up and a stack of papers in his hand. He was wearing a snug, dark-blue T-shirt that had Go Local Sports Team! across the front and broken-in jeans. His dark hair was slicked back, shorn short on the sides but still long on the top, and his glasses had migrated a little down his nose as he read. The tattoos on his arm flexed as he turned a page. Kincaid shouldn’t be staring, but goddamn, the guy had gotten unfairly hot.

How was she supposed to deal with that? Her brain was all No, girl. Her brain knew why Ash was not that kind of option. Sex was what had messed up things the first time. And God, he’d been a virgin. She felt like such an idiot for not knowing that back then. He’d said he was surprised she hadn’t realized it, but she couldn’t even remember if the sex had felt good or not. The whole thing was a haze of grief. When she’d realized what they’d done, the guilt she’d felt, the anger at Ash…both had exploded inside her and obliterated most of the other memories from that horrible night.

That was what crossing lines in friendship did. So if they had any shot at having any kind of workable friendship now, she needed to keep the boundaries crystal clear. No ogling people you had real history with. Her brain knew that. But every other part of her was all Heyyyy, history smishtory. She set a cup of coffee on the counter, jolting Ash from his concentrated state and forcing herself off her dangerous line of thought.

“Looks like someone decided to get a head start,” she observed.

Ash glanced up from the papers, obviously surprised to see her standing there. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m a ninja on the side.” She pulled a bag of pastries from her purse. “Plus, this music is loud. I feel like I should be preparing to storm the castle or something.”

He reached out, turned a dial on the old system that controlled the store’s speakers, and the movie music softened. “Sorry. The quiet, empty store was creeping me out a little.”

She knew the feeling. Ghosts were everywhere in this place. She could almost feel their past selves whispering to each other between the aisles somewhere. “Aren’t writers supposed to sleep ’til noon and then stumble to work half-drunk?”

“I’m not so good with the sleeping or the drinking. Plus, the commute from upstairs is short. I figured I’d come down and take a look at some of the numbers.” His gaze drifted to the coffee and greasy paper bag, brows lifting. “You come bearing gifts?”

Kincaid shrugged. “It was buy one, get one free at the new coffee place. You can have the tall one. It’s cold brew something or other. I figured your hipster self would prefer something fancy. There are kolaches in the bag, too. I got those from the Czech gas station because I’m not trusting the fancy coffee shop with my pastries.”