Page 68 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Her grin was worth it.

“Obviously.” She dropped the sheet she had around her and was already wriggling into the green dress in a way that made him want to rip it off her again.

Reese stripped off his sweats and pulled on the dress pants. They fit better than they had any right to.

Grace finished pulling on the dress and did a spin, the beading catching the light. She looked incredible. The velvet hugged her slight curves, the dropped waist emphasizing her hips, the whole thing making her look like she’d stepped out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

“How do I look?” she asked.

Reese’s mouth had gone dry. “Like you walked out of a speakeasy.”

“Good speakeasy or tragic speakeasy?”

“Good. More than good. And definitely the kind I’d want to be at.”

She found a headband with feathers, positioned it on her head at a jaunty angle. “Now you. Vest and jacket.”

Reese pulled on the rest of the suit, and Grace smiled.

“Okay, you look hot. Very dapper gangster.”

“Gangster, eh?” He adjusted the vest. “Guess that tracks.”

She was rummaging in another trunk now, pulling out God knew what. “Oh! There’s a camera!”

It was an old Polaroid, the kind that had been retro even before it became vintage again. Grace loaded film she found in the same trunk, aimed it at Reese and clicked before he could protest.

The camera whirred. A photo slid out and Grace shook it. Slowly, an image appeared: Reese in the pinstriped suit, standing in shadow, looking like he belonged in a different era.

“My turn,” he said, taking the camera from her.

Grace posed, hand on hip, giving him that sass he was starting to crave. He captured her mid-laugh, the feathers in her headband slightly askew, joy written across her face.

Then they set up the timer and took one together, racing to get in the frame. Grace ended up pressed against him, his arm around her waist, both of them grinning like idiots.

“We look ridiculous,” Grace said, studying the developing photo.

“We look good.”

“We look like we’re about to commit crimes.”

“I can think of some crimes to commit.” Reese pulled her closer, kissed the spot behind her ear that he was learning made her shiver. “Very ‘everything but’ kind of crimes.”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Focus. We’re exploring, remember?”

Right. Exploring. Which meant he needed to actually look at what was up there instead of just looking at Grace.

They split up, Grace gravitating toward some furniture. Arts and Crafts dresser that would be worth serious money once restored. The joinery alone was museum-quality. A writing desk with secret compartments that still functioned smoothly after a century. Chairs that just needed reupholstering.

“Look at this craftsmanship,” Grace said, running her hand over a wardrobe door. “The detail work. They really built things to last.”

“Could use this in the honeymoon suite,” Reese said, already planning. “Once the tower’s properly renovated.”

“Yes! And this dresser in one of the lakeside rooms.” Grace was mentally decorating already, he could tell. “Keep the vintage character but make it functional. What about those chairs?”

“Dining room. Reupholster in something rich: burgundy or forest green. Mix them with the existing table for that eclectic look people pay premium for.”

They caught each other’s eyes and Reese saw the realization hit them both simultaneously. They were planning together. Making decisions like they’d both be there to implement them. Like this wasn’t a competition with only one winner.