Page 108 of The Sugar Maple Inn

After that, he’d throw himself back in. Leave Solace Springs. Bury himself in work. Participate again.

But for now? Surviving was enough.

He stood at the window of the large lake house he’d rented, staring out at Solace Lake. The lake was copper today. Autumn leaves floating on the surface like scattered coins. The island sat in the middle distance, tower visible through the trees. And beyond that, the town. Solace Springs. Where Grace was probably working right now. Serving coffee. Smiling at customers. Pretending he’d never existed.

His phone sat on the counter. Silent. He’d been ignoring it for days.

Erika had called seventeen times. Left increasingly frantic voicemails. Something about the Singapore deal going sideways. About investors getting nervous. About needing his signature on contracts worth several million.

Didn’t matter.

He could afford to lose a couple million. Had lost more on worse bets.

The one call he had answered was from the helicopter repair service that morning. His bird was ready. Fixed. They’d have it fueled and waiting at the hangar by five. He’d already arranged for a car to pick him up at four. Take him to the airfield. Get him back to Canada where he belonged.

Two more hours and he’d be gone.

What he couldn’t afford was feeling like this. Soft. Loose. Like his skin had been peeled back and everything underneath was exposed.

Grace was in his head. Day, noon, and night. The way she’d looked at him in the tower. How she’d felt in his arms. The vulnerability in her eyes when she opened herself to him.

He’d thought about messaging her. Explaining. His thumb had hovered over her contact more times than he could count.

A knock at the door pulled him from his spiral.

Reese frowned. Nobody knew he was still here except the guy who owned it and that guy was in Tokyo.

He crossed to the door, whiskey in hand and pulled it open.

Abe Blackwell stood on the porch, holding a leather folder.

“Been trying to get hold of you,” Abe said without preamble. “Phone goes straight to voicemail. Then got told by Cheryl across the road that you’re staying here.”

“Sorry. Been off the grid a bit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. “How can I help, Abe?”

“I’d like to sell you the inn.” Abe held up the folder. “Contract. Standard terms.”

Reese stared at him.

The inn. The whole reason he’d come to Solace Springs in the first place. The property that sat on top of his family’s buried secrets. The acquisition that should’ve been straightforward until Grace Sullivan had complicated everything.

“What about Grace?” The question was out before Reese could stop it. Before he could pretend not to care.

Abe’s eyebrow rose. “She put up a good fight. But her projections barely work on paper, you know that. Place needs serious investment, especially with the recent damage. And she can’t afford that. You can.”

Reese realized he was disappointed. That shocked him. He should be relieved. Victorious. He’d won. The inn was his. He could excavate the cellar, find whatever his family had hidden, finally have answers to questions that had driven him across three continents.

Except all he felt was hollow.

Because Grace should have this place. She needed it. Needed something that was hers, not handed down or settled for. Something she’d built herself instead of inheriting from people who’d left.

And hell, that place needed her. Needed her vision and her passion and her willingness to fight for it. Needed someone who saw it as a home instead of an acquisition. Who’d fill it with warmth instead of treating it like just another property in a portfolio.

Reese had plenty of properties. Grace had nothing but dreams and a teenage kid.

For once in his life, Reese Spencer didn’t want to be the one who won.

Abe watched him, watery blue eyes curious. Then he nodded at the whiskey. “Any more of that going?”