Page 100 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“My favorite designer? Oh, you know, I’m very loyal to Target. Their fall collection really speaks to me.”

He laughed. “Target. Right.”

“I’m serious! They have excellent work pants.”

“Grace—”

“Fine, Old Navy. But only when they’re having a sale.”

“Carolina Herrera it is, then,” he said, grinning at her scandalized expression. “I’ll have my assistant send a few options to your place first thing. Should be there by nine. Then I’ll pick you up at five. Sound good?”

He saw it immediately: the pause, the slight shift in her expression. He’d made this mistake already, assuming she was in charge of her life.

“Shit,” he said. “Will you still be at the café? It’s Friday.”

Grace bit her lip, and Reese had to actively stop himself from leaning over to trace that gesture with his thumb. Or his mouth.

“I’ll get the afternoon off,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom wouldn’t be Mom if she turned down a chance for me to go to a fancy fundraiser with a billionaire. Hell, she might sneak in herself, you better check the potted plants.”

He smiled. “Good. That’s…good.”

Because he was already looking forward to tomorrow. To seeing Grace in a dress that wasn’t black and funeral-appropriate. To watching her face when she realized she could be just as stunning in designer silk as she was in her coffee-stained uniform.

To spoiling her, just a little bit more.

She had no idea what she’d just agreed to.

And Reese couldn’t wait to show her.

Thirty-Eight

Grace

The huge five-star hotel in Seattle had a lobby so grand, it made Grace want to check if her shoes were clean before she walked across the marble floors.

Everything gleamed. Everything was enormous. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from ceilings so high they might as well have been clouds. Women in stunning gowns glided past like swans, their jewelry catching the light in ways that suggested they were either very real or very, very good fakes. Grace was betting on real.

She looked down at her dress, still slightly stunned at how good she felt…and looked. Ten dresses had shown up at her apartment that morning along with a stylist who’d descended on her living room like a very chic SWAT team. She’d tried on every dress and chosen the champagne silk because…well, she’d felt goddamn amazing in it! A floor-length column dress with a subtle cowl neck and an open back that made her feel elegant and exposed in equal measure. The stylist had paired it with diamonds that were definitely real (Grace had been too afraid to ask how much they cost), strappy gold heels that added three inches to her height and a clutch so small it could barely hold her phone and lipstick.

When she’d looked in the mirror back at her apartment, she understood what Reese saw when he looked at her. Not the struggling single mom. Not the waitress or the dreamer or the woman who was always one crisis away from falling apart.

She saw someone beautiful. Someone worthy. Someone who could stand next to a man like Reese Spencer and belong there.

The realization had made her cry, which had made the stylist panic and frantically reapply mascara.

When Reese had picked her up, he’d frozen in her doorway for a solid five seconds, just staring. “Grace,” he’d said finally, “you look absolutely breathtaking.”

And then he’d kissed her, careful not to mess up the makeup that had taken an hour to apply, and Grace had thought maybe she could pull this off. And Reese. He looked amazing. His tux fit him like it had been sewn on to his body. The black fabric made his hair look more golden, his eyes greener. When they arrived at the Four Seasons ballroom, he moved through the crowd with confidence, shaking hands, laughing at jokes, introducing Grace with his hand warm and steady at the small of her back.

“Grace, this is Howie Stevens and his wife Ruth. Howie runs the West Coast operations for—”

Grace smiled and nodded through the introduction, trying to remember if she was supposed to shake hands or do that weird air-kiss thing rich people did. She went with the handshake. Safer.

“And what do you do, Grace?” Ruth asked, her smile polite and genuinely curious.