She blinked rapidly, and her eyes glistened in the garden lights. “Ash.”

He ran a hand over the back of his head, uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I didn’t leave because I was tired of you or because you were too much. I had to leave because I was too messed up to stay,” he said, needing her to know that. “You were the best friend I’d ever had. My world was a much darker place without you in it, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do—go out in the world without having you in my corner.”

She stared at him.

“So don’t let any guy sell you some line of bullshit that you’re too much to handle. If you don’t want the marriage-and-kids thing, that’s your prerogative. I get it. I’m not so fond of the idea these days either. But don’t let some asshole or a gaggle of them decide that for you. If they don’t want to be with you because you’re ‘too much,’ that just means they’re not enough.”

A tear escaped down her cheek, and she walked toward him. His heart was beating fast by the time she stopped in front of him. She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. “You always had a way with words, Ashton Isaacs. No wonder people pay you for them now.”

He gave her a small smile. “I just want to make sure you hear these.”

To his surprise, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him. She put her cheek against his shoulder and hugged him tight. Stunned for a moment, he stood there, arms hanging at his sides, but then his brain finally kicked into gear, and he hugged her back.

“I missed you,” she said, the words almost a whisper.

He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her—that sweet vanilla—and his body relaxed into the hug. “I missed you back.”

She leaned back in his arms, her face just inches from his as she looked up at him. “Don’t drive all the way back to Long Acre. You can stay here.”

A bolt of unadulterated wanting went through him both at her nearness and the words, but that bolt was quickly followed by warning bells. “KC—”

“I have a nice guest room with extra toiletries. It will save you the trip now and the drive back in the morning. It’ll be like old times but without the sneaking around or the questionable scent of a teenage boy’s bedroom.”

“Hey,” he said, “my bedroom did not stink. I washed my sheets at least every three-ish months.”

She laughed and put her hands on his shoulders. “Come on. I’ll make my kickass pancakes in the morning. You can give me a trial run on my bed-and-breakfast skills.”

He knew the offer was completely innocent. This was at the heart of Kincaid’s DNA—she did for her friends. She didn’t want him to drive this late and make him go out of the way in the morning. She wanted to cook for him because she liked feeding people. But part of him wished right now that they were two other people in a different set of circumstances because he wanted to pull her back to him, cup her face, and kiss her. He wanted her to invite him inside for more than pancakes. But he’d stupidly messed up their friendship once before with those kinds of feelings. No way was he making that mistake again, not when they were finally mending some things between them.