Page 86 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“My ex-wife,” he continued, and Grace could picture him running his hands through his hair the way he did when he was struggling for words. “Megan. She…she played a long game. Was using me for money.”

Grace closed her eyes.

“The worst part wasn’t the money she got out of me,” he said, so quiet Grace had to press closer to hear. “It was finding out that every moment, every conversation, every time she said she loved me was probably calculated. She’d studied me like I was some mark in a con game. When I realized you were AutumnDreams87, for a second I thought it was the same with you.” He exhaled hard. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” she said, even though part of her was still hurt, still cautious. “You’re just…scarred.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Grace—”

“No, Reese.”

A sigh, then she heard him walk away. Her heart sank. Of course. Rich boys didn’t grovel. They didn’t—

Something slid under the door. The Polaroid from earlier, the one of them together. She picked it up and looked at it. The way he was looking at her. So intense. So serious. Like she was something so precious he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“Does that look like just fun to you?” His voice came from right outside again.

She stared at the photo, at the naked emotion on his face. This wasn’t the expression of a man playing games. She cracked the door open, just enough to peer through. He was sitting on the floor again, back against the wall, those green eyes uncertain.

“Hey, WildTrailGuide,” she said softly.

A smile tugged at his mouth, relief flooding his features. “Hey, AutumnDreams87.”

They stared at each other, then Grace pulled him into the bathroom and kissed him. This kiss was different from the ones before. Edgier. Hungrier. Like they were both trying to prove something to each other, to themselves.

“If you ever,” Grace said against his mouth, “ever make me feel like I’m just some convenient entertainment again—”

“You’re not,” he said, backing her against the cold tiles, hands framing her face. “Grace, you’re not convenient. You’re complicated and stubborn and you terrify me because you’re real. You’re the most real thing that’s happened to me in years.” He stood up, lifting her with him and placing her on the bathroom counter, stepping between her legs. “You drive me insane. You call me on my bullshit. No one else does that. No one else makes me feel like this, off balance and steady at the same time, and I don’t want it to end.”

Did he just say he didn’t want it to end?

Grace pulled back to look at him, this beautiful, complicated man who’d built walls as high as hers. “We’re a disaster waiting to happen, you know that, right? Billionaire and waitress. It’s a bad Hallmark movie.”

“Good thing my guilty pleasure is bad Hallmark movies,” he said and then his mouth was on hers again—hot, certain, shutting her up in the best possible way. Her breath hitched as he pushed her panties aside, rolled a condom on, and thrust into her, the world narrowing to skin, heat, and the sheer audacity of it. It wasn’t sweet or tidy or anything fit for a Christmas special. It was wild, reckless, like daring the universe to try to stop them.

•••

Later, tangled together in the dark, Grace traced patterns on his chest while he played with her hair.

“AutumnDreams87, though?” he murmured. “Really?”

“Shut up. Like WildTrailGuide is any better.”

“It’s mysterious.”

“It’s pretentious.”

“Says the woman who pretended to be from another hemisphere.”

Grace bit his shoulder playfully. “I panicked, okay? Single mom from Nowheresville doesn’t exactly scream ‘take my business advice seriously.’ ”

He tilted her chin up. “Your business advice to the other subreddit members was terrible anyway.”

Grace should have been offended. Instead, she found herself grinning. “So why did you keep helping me?”