Page 110 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Reese set down the contract.

Picked up his phone.

His thumb hovered over her name.

What would he even say? Sorry I proved you right about everything?

Or maybe just: I miss you.

Simple. Honest. Terrifying.

Reese stared at the screen for a long moment.

No. It was too late. He could feel it in his bones.

He just needed to get out of here.

So he picked up his pen instead…

Forty-Two

Grace

Grace was elbow-deep in dishwater when she heard the doorbell go. She dried her hands on a dish towel and trudged to the door, opening it to find a delivery guy in a crisp uniform holding an A4 envelope out to her.

“Grace Sullivan?”

“That’s me.”

“Sign here.”

Grace signed. Took the envelope. Closed the door.

Probably another bill. Electricity. Water. Or some exciting new bill she didn’t know existed yet. Maybe the town had invented a “your life is a disaster” tax and she owed back payments.

She sat on the couch and opened it.

Paused.

The letterhead was familiar.

Spencer Holdings International.

Grace’s heart stopped. Then started again at about twice its normal speed.

A letter? From Reese?

She almost threw it away. Almost ripped it up without reading it because what could he possibly have to say that would matter now? And on headed paper too, for God’s sake!

But her hands were already unfolding the paper. Her eyes already scanning the first line.

Grace,

I’m not good at this. Words. Apologies. Admitting when I’m wrong. But I’m going to try anyway because you deserve that much.

You were right about me. I came to Solace Springs for the inn. For what might be buried underneath it. For answers to questions about my dad that have cost me more time and money than I care to calculate.

But you were wrong about one thing.