Ash looked like he was going to reach out to her, but then he paused and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You have moved on. Look at what you’re doing. We’re going to sell this store, and you’re going to take the money and open your B and B anyway. And it’s going to be great because…” He shrugged. “Because you’re you, and everything you put your mind to, you’re a success at.”

She scoffed and gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh my God, are you kidding me? That’s your logic? That is so opposite the truth. Do you remember me, Ash? Let me refresh that memory bank of yours. I’m impulsive and regularly get myself into trouble. It’s kind of my thing. I’m just upping the ante now, like buying a half-million-dollar farmhouse I can’t afford in a place where no one wants to visit a B and B. It’s no better than my mother throwing her month’s salary down on a blackjack table.”

“Now who’s talking bullshit?” He pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. “Kincaid, you came from nothing. Less than nothing. You had no help from the start, and then you got slammed in the face with a national tragedy. Most people would be destroyed by that. Yet somehow, you’ve built up a real estate business, you run a blog, you have a home, and now you’re going to start a new business.”

“Wait, you read my blog?”

He groaned. “Missing the point. I’m saying, look at what you’ve built. You’re killing it. And if you decide you’re going to open a B and B, you’re going to figure out a way to get it done and get people there because that’s what you do. You bulldoze your own path where there isn’t one. That’s your thing. You say screw you with a smile to the people who tell you that you can’t.”

Something warm and fuzzy moved through her, and her lips curved. “That is kind of my thing, isn’t it?”

“Bulldoze and steamroll?” he teased. “Most definitely.”

She playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Oh, Isaacs, you say the sweetest things. You should be a writer.”

He smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

“But you’re right—”

He held up a hand. “Wait. Give me a second. Let me absorb those words fully. I’m right. I’m right…”

“Shut up. No one likes a bragger,” she declared, a little wary of how easily they were slipping back into their old banter. She needed to watch herself. “But you’re right that I shouldn’t stand by and let other people define this town for me. The rebranding of Long Acre starts now. Right here in this bookstore.” She jabbed a thumb behind her. “The true-crime section gets moved to the back. Books about the Long Acre shooting are by mail order only. I don’t care if they’re the bestsellers. Locals should be able to come in here and not be hit with in-your-face reminders. A trigger-free space.”