Graham. Always Graham. Frustration rippled through Ash. “Isn’t that letting Joseph and Trevor win, though? You just gave up because no guy can compete with a ghost.”

She flinched. “Don’t call Graham that.”

“I’m not trying to be mean. But that’s what he is, KC. Graham died at eighteen. He’s got a perfect record in your head only because he didn’t get to grow up and make mistakes or piss you off or break your heart.”

“He wouldn’t have…” she said, looking away.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. The guy was human. He had flaws.” Big ones. “You don’t know how things would’ve turned out.”

A muscle in her jaw flexed. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need a guy in my life to be happy. I’m fine on my own—great, in fact. It’s been a big relief not to worry about it anymore. I don’t have to waste time watching men let me down again and again. I want to live each day like it’s my last, you know? Because it could be. Have fun. Have great friends. Be a great friend. Don’t take things too seriously. And don’t count on anyone to stick around.”

That last blow landed solid.

“And certainly stop looking for some guy to give me a fairy tale. Even if I wanted to cling to that illusion, I’m not the kind of woman guys marry. I’ve been informed of that over and over again.” Her lip curled in derision. “I’m like high-end liquor. Best in small doses. Or so I’m told. I think the guy who said that to me thought he was being romantic.”

Ash’s fist clenched in his lap. “Another guy who sounds like he needs to be punched.”

“Yeah, well. He was the only one who said it. The other guys just demonstrated it.” She reached for her purse, which she’d stashed on the floorboard. “Even you, right?”

Ash leaned back, the words slapping him in the face. “Kincaid—”

She lifted a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. My filter setting is on low. Three margaritas. I need to get inside.”

Before he could say anything else, she climbed out of the car, tossed her key fob on the passenger seat, and shut the door.

Kincaid had always loved having the last word, but he couldn’t let her have this one tonight. He grabbed the key and climbed out. She was already halfway to the door. “KC, wait.”

She ignored him.

He braced his arms on top of the car and called out louder, “You’re baby-fox coffee.”

The words boomed in the quiet around them, only the crickets filling the space in between. Her quick steps stuttered and then she paused. She turned her head to look back at him, confused. “What?”

He breathed past the tightness in his throat and stepped around the car. “You’re baby-fox coffee, not fine liquor. You’re rare and full of energy and straight-up addictive. Only those with a very refined palate can appreciate you. But those people are out there, and once they get a sip, they won’t know how they got through the days without you before that.”