Page 88 of The Sugar Maple Inn

That was it, then. Their strange, suspended little world was about to dissolve. No more storm. No more isolation. No more pretending that what happened here existed outside of everything else.

He swallowed hard, watching the boats close the distance. Soon there’d be people everywhere. Questions, noise, reality.

And Grace, walking away with that determined chin and that soft, stubborn mouth, back to her life on the shore.

Thirty-Four

Grace

Morning arrived like Grace’s credit card bill: unwelcome and full of reality checks she wasn’t ready for. The fog had disappeared to wherever fog goes when it’s done being dramatic, leaving Solace Lake looking all innocent and picture-perfect. Sunlight streamed through the tower window, exposing their little love nest in all its crusty-clothed, empty-plate glory.

They moved around each other like hungover teenagers trying not to wake their parents. Folding blankets. Collecting trash. Basically destroying the evidence of what happened when you lock two people desperate for connection in a tower and shook vigorously.

Their fingers touched reaching for the same water bottle. They froze and the look between them said everything their mouths wouldn’t. This was real. This mattered. This is so fucked.

“Grace! You better be decent up there!” Luke’s voice boomed from outside like God’s own cockblock. “We’re coming to move this tree!”

Grace peered out the window. Luke and Jake stood below with chainsaws and enough backup to film a “Hunky Firefighters of Solace Springs” calendar. My boys, Grace thought. Same idiots who’d helped her egg Travis Whitman’s car junior year when he cheated on her.

“You better have slept on that chaise longue in there, billionaire boy!” Jake hollered. “We’ve got chainsaws and we know how to make bodies disappear in these woods!”

Grace snorted despite herself.

“They protective of you?” Reese asked, coming up behind Grace.

“Always.”

“Good.” His lips found the back of her neck. “Same here.”

The emotion in his voice made her chest do something stupid and fluttery. They both knew what came next. Tree moves. Door opens. Cinderella’s carriage turns back into a pumpkin and Grace goes back to serving coffee to assholes who tip in spare change and “kind” advice.

His phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

Then basically had a seizure of notifications.

“Shit, looks like cell and wifi coverage is back,” Reese muttered, the screen lighting up. The outside world had found him and apparently it was pissed.

He answered his ringing phone, already pacing away. “Yep, the storm. Ah-huh—What? When?” His whole body went rigid. “How bad?”

Grace hugged herself, already feeling Reese pulling away even though he was still right there. Amazing how fast you could feel someone leave before they actually went.

“Get the jet ready; Sam can pick me up from here and take me to the airport. Yeah, I know, I’ll be there ASAP.” He put the phone down and glanced at Grace. “There’s been a fire at one of my properties.”

“Oh no. Is everyone okay?”

“As far as I know. But I need to be there.”

“Of course.”

Reality: 1. Grace’s Stupid Fantasy: 0.

Below, in the narrow corridor leading to the tower, the chainsaws roared into life. Grace and Reese jogged downstairs. Grace heard the tree shudder, groan, then fall away with a crack that probably registered on the Richter scale.

“Clear!” Luke shouted from outside.

The door flew open and suddenly her and Reese’s private little soiree was a public spectacle. Luke, Jake, half the volunteer fire department, all gawking at them like they were the season finale of The Bachelor: Billionaire Edition.