Page 32 of The Sugar Maple Inn

But he couldn’t walk away. Not when he was this close. Not when the cryptic note in his dad’s journal had pointed him here. To this island. This building. Something hidden beneath the foundations that his ancestors thought was important enough to keep away from prying eyes.

And he couldn’t lose because Reese Spencer never lost.

As though agreeing, thunder rumbled in the distance, loud enough to make Reese’s teeth rattle. Everyone at the table flinched. Outside, the trees went from swaying to full-on thrashing, branches whipping like they were fighting for their lives. The lake had turned black, whitecaps forming so fast it looked like the water was boiling.

Christ. That had come up fast.

Abe pushed back from the table and moved to the window, hands shoved in his pockets as he studied the storm with a silence that made Reese’s instincts kick in. The old captain wasn’t just concerned. He was calculating.

“Lake’s looking bad,” Abe said finally. “Real bad. Can’t see any boat crossing in this. No helicopter either,” he added, peering over his shoulder at Reese. “Visibility’s dropping too fast.”

Right on cue, Grace’s phone lit up on the table. She snatched it like it might have good news, but Reese watched her face drain of color as she read whatever was on the screen.

“It’s Luke,” she said, her voice tight. “He can’t cross. Says there’s a squall line moving through. Winds gusting to fifty knots.” Her eyes lifted to Abe, then Margaret. “Could last through the night, he says.”

Margaret let out a sigh that spoke of decades spent weathering storms on this island. “Well, that does it then. Looks like you’ll be staying the night.”

Twelve

Grace

Grace stared at Margaret like she’d lost her mind.

“Yay!” Caleb said, clapping his hands together. “This’ll be fun, like a corporate retreat, but with better scenery and significantly more tension. Should we do trust falls? Team building exercises?”

“No,” the rest of the people sitting around the table said simultaneously.

“This’ll be a good learning curve, for both of you,” Abe said. “See it as an extended interview.”

“Oh yes,” Margaret said. “Maybe you can help with dinner? See if you have the chops to feed your guests when the chef can’t get over on a boat, which he definitely can’t now,” she added as she eyed the stormy lake.

“A cook-off? Yes! This is perfect,” Caleb said. “Grace versus Reese. Autumn ingredients. Winner gets…I don’t know, bragging rights? Our undying admiration? Father’s approval, which is basically impossible to get, so good luck with that.”

“But I have a shift tomorrow and—” She was about to say that Zach had school, but then she remembered he’d been suspended until Thursday. “Look, I can’t just—”

“I’m in,” Reese said, his voice cutting through her protest. He was looking at her with something in his eyes that made her stomach flip. Challenge. Amusement. Fire. “Unless you’d rather not, Grace?”

Oh, he did not just throw down that gauntlet.

Grace lifted her chin. “You’re on.”

“Excellent!” Margaret clapped her hands once, decisive. “Let me show you all to your rooms first. Get settled, Grace and Zach can dry off a bit. We’ll reconvene in a couple of hours for dinner prep.” She stood, already moving toward the hallway.

“We call dibs on the tower room!” Caleb announced, linking his arms through Mikkel’s.

“Sorry, Caleb,” Margaret said. “We have a honeymoon couple staying tomorrow night. So we’re keeping the tower off limits for now.” She peered out at the storm. “Assuming this storm passes before they arrive.”

Margaret led them all down a hallway to the rooms. The inn creaked around them, old wood settling, wind beginning to howl through cracks that probably needed weatherstripping. It was shabby and beautiful and exactly the kind of place Grace had dreamed about restoring.

If she could actually afford to restore it, anyway. Which, after Reese’s very public dismantling of her budget, felt significantly less certain than it had this morning.

She could feel him close behind her, could even feel his warm breath on her neck.

“Grace, you’re here,” Margaret said, opening a door to reveal a room with a brass bed, a patchwork quilt and windows overlooking the churning lake. “Zach, honey, you’re right next door to your mom. I imagine you’re too old now to share.”

“Cool.” Zach barely glanced into his assigned room, just threw his rucksack onto the bed. “Actually, can I just hang out in the dining room? I brought my Switch.”

“Of course, dear.” Margaret smiled. “There’s more hot chocolate in the kitchen if you want some.”