Page 85 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Sophie : Grace Sullivan has a crush on an internet stranger. Never thought I’d see the day.

Grace: It’s not a crush. It’s professional mentorship.

Sophie : Sure, sure.

Grace: I’m serious! And anyway, he’s probably married with three kids. People who are actually helpful usually are.

Sophie : Or maybe he’s a hot single billionaire who’s going to sweep you off your feet.

Grace: Yeah, and maybe I’ll win the lottery and Zach will clean his room without being asked. We’re talking fantasies now.

Sophie : I’m just saying, you deserve someone good. Even if he is an internet stranger.

Grace: I deserve to get this inn. That’s what I deserve. Everything else is a distraction.

Reese scrolled further. More conversations. Grace asking Sophie how to phrase questions for “her mentor.” Grace celebrating when “WildTrailGuide helped me figure out the ROI calculations.” Grace venting about her mother while mentioning that “at least two people believe I can do this: you and my online friend.”

Never once did she mention his real name. Never once did she suggest she knew who he was.

Reese pinched the bridge of his nose.

The doubt was still there. Thrumming under his skin. Years of experience screaming that this was too convenient, too perfect, too—

But maybe.

Maybe this was proof.

Maybe Grace really had no idea who he was when she’d messaged him at two in the morning asking for help with financial projections.

Maybe she’d just been a single mom trying to figure out how to chase her dream.

And maybe he’d just accused her of the worst kind of manipulation because he was too stupid to see the truth when it was right in front of him.

Thirty-Two

Grace

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Grace with all the finality of a coffin lid.

We all knew it was just a bit of fun, anyway.

Those words Reese had uttered were all it took to unravel everything she thought they’d built in this tower. Eleven words to confirm what the nasty voice in her head had been whispering all along: You’re not the type of woman billionaires fall for. You’re the kind they play with when they’re bored.

She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked exactly like what she was: a small-town waitress who’d gotten in way over her head.

Her hands shook as she turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. The tower, this whole insane twenty-four hours. She was just convenient entertainment. He was trapped there with her, nowhere else to go. Like those reality shows where they lock strangers in a house and watch them crack.

“Grace?” His voice came through the door. “I’m sorry. That all came out wrong.”

She dried her face, anger rising up hot and sharp. Good. Anger was better than the pathetic hurt threatening to swallow her whole.

“Oh, it’s fine!” she called back, injecting as much sarcasm as she could muster. “It was just fun, no big fucking deal. That’s what you said, right?”

Silence. Then she heard him slide down against the door, his weight making the old wood creak.

“I didn’t mean that.” His voice came from lower now, floor level. “I was…Christ, I was worried history was repeating itself.”

Something in his tone made her sink down too, her back against her side of the door. Their heads separated by two inches of oak and a canyon of doubt.