He lifted a finger as though he were in debate class. “Okay, I’ll give it to you on the love interest, but the bird was old. Like ancient. And it made the hero come to terms with the loss of his brother.”

“Old? Percy was a pet, Ash,” she said, giving him a disbelieving look. “You don’t kill the pet. Damn.” She put a hand over her heart. “RIP Percy.” That freaking bird death had made her cry in the waiting room of her ob-gyn’s office. She caught Ash’s expression. “Why are you smiling?”

He bit his lip as if he was trying to hide the smile, but he couldn’t. He looked too damned pleased. “Because you clearly feel passionate about my book. I’ll take that over someone feeling indifferent.”

“Anger is better than indifference?” she asked skeptically.

“Sometimes.” He held her gaze long enough to make her look away.

She grabbed the papers. “Anything interesting besides your sluggish sales?”

He blew out a sigh. “Yeah, the bestselling books for the store make my books look like riding-on-a-unicorn-through-the-clouds uplifting.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to scan the pages but didn’t quite understand the format of the report.

He pointed to a column on the paper. “True crime is the bestseller,” he said flatly. “Particularly books about Long Acre High.”

Her stomach turned. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised Grace and Charlie even stock the stuff, but I guess they were giving the tourists what they wanted.”

Kincaid dropped the papers on the desk, her face getting hot. “I can’t even. Imagine how horrible that has to be for Grace and Charlie. Some rando out-of-towner coming in here, the place where their son grew up, looking for a splashy tell-all about Long Acre High?”

Ash rubbed a hand over the back of his head, his expression weary. “It’s what the town’s known for. I don’t know if that will ever change.”

“Ugh, I’m so done with people saying that. It’s bullshit.” Kincaid felt her anger bubbling up from a much deeper place than the true-crime section of the bookstore. “I get that those books have the right to be written. I get that documentaries are made. I know that some of them are handled with care and respect. The world needs to learn from what happened here. People’s stories should be told. But I am so freaking sick of everything being about that one night. This town deserves better than that.” Her fist curled at her side. “We deserve better than that. We shouldn’t have to stock books in here that tell our horror story. Let people buy that somewhere else.”

Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Dammit. She didn’t want to cry.

Ash frowned, setting down his coffee, and stepped around the desk. “Hey, it’s all right. If this is too hard…”

Kincaid shook her head. “These aren’t sad tears. These are pissed-off ones.” She pressed her fingers beneath her eyes so her mascara wouldn’t raccoon on her. “I just… It’s been a long week. I haven’t slept much. And the whole reason I couldn’t get investors for my bed-and-breakfast was because of how outsiders perceive Long Acre. No one believes that people would come here for a vacation. That horrible night finds new ways to haunt me each year. Don’t we ever get to move on?”