Page 27 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Grace took in a sharp breath as Abe and Margaret exchanged looks.

“I know the feeling,” Reese said. “Got suspended twice back in eighth grade for throwing punches. Turns out diplomacy’s not a skill you’re born with.”

Grace gave Reese a blistering look. What the hell was he thinking, making her son think fighting was a way to get to the top?

He smiled sheepishly. But he did shut up.

“Right.” Abe’s voice cut through the moment. “Storm’s moving faster than expected. Let’s get this done. Large table over there. Margaret’s got coffee.” He was already heading for the doorway, not waiting to see if they’d follow.

Grace took a breath, adjusted her laptop bag and followed the old man into the dining room. She’d always liked the room, with its dark wood and faded grandeur, vast windows overlooking the lake.

Margaret was already pouring coffee from an antique silver pot. “Zach, honey, there’s hot chocolate if you’d prefer. And help yourself to cookies.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Blackwell.” Zach made a beeline for the refreshments, proving that even teenage surliness had its limits when faced with Margaret’s baking.

“Grace, Reese, sit anywhere,” Margaret added, her smile warmer now that they were away from the formality of introductions. “Though maybe not that chair. The leg’s been wobbly since 1983.”

Reese took the chair at the head of the table. Of course he did. The chair seemed too small for him, his long legs taking up more than their fair share of space beneath the table. He had that relaxed sprawl of a man who knew his size alone made people shift to accommodate him.

Grace took the other head of the table opposite him, trying to stop her hands trembling by jamming them between her knees. Zach sat near her, giving her a rare encouraging look as he devoured a cookie.

“So…” Abe settled into the chair in the middle of the table, Margaret taking the seat next to him as Caleb and Mikkel sat across from them with Ella. “Reese, why don’t you go first? Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Reese didn’t reach for a laptop. Didn’t pull out notes or a presentation folder or any of the carefully prepared materials Grace had spent all night assembling. He just leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in one hand, looking like a wolf getting ready for its first kill.

God, the arrogance of him, sitting there with nothing but a cup of coffee, as though a billion-dollar deal could be closed on posture alone.

This was how rich men operated, Grace realized. No flashy presentations, no desperate proving of worth. Just quiet certainty that their vision was the correct one, backed by the kind of resources that made objections irrelevant. Why bother with PowerPoints when you could simply…make things happen?

It made her meticulously prepared presentation feel suddenly, painfully quaint. Like showing up to a Formula One race on a bicycle.

But Abe and Margaret are old-fashioned too, she reminded herself. They’re not going to be impressed by wealth alone. They’re going to care about substance.

At least, she hoped they would.

Reese put down his coffee and leaned forward, large, scarred hands sprawled on the surface of the table as he looked at everyone. Grace found her eyes tracking the movement—the way his shoulders shifted under his shirt, the flex of muscle in his forearms. He had nice forearms. Strong, tanned, with a dusting of—

Stop it. Stop it right now.

She dragged her attention back to his actual words.

“The island’s special,” he said simply. “Anyone can see that. The question is, what do you do with special: exploit it or protect it?”

Grace’s jaw tightened. Of course he’d start with the moral high ground.

“I’m thinking wildlife sanctuary,” Reese continued, his voice easy and conversational, like he was discussing weekend plans rather than a property purchase. “Keep the inn operational but small-scale. The focus shifts from hospitality to conservation. Guided nature experiences, research partnerships with universities, maybe some educational programs.”

Caleb made an interested noise. “Eco-tourism. Very Gwyneth Paltrow goes camping.”

“That kind of operation requires significant capital,” Mikkel commented.

“That’s the upside of having resources,” Reese replied smoothly. “You’ve got the room to do it right, not just turn a profit.”

Must be nice, Grace thought, taking a sip of coffee to keep from saying it out loud.

Abe watched Reese with those sharp captain’s eyes. “And the forest?”

“Untouched. Walking trails, minimal impact. The eagles you’ve got nesting here? Those stay protected. In fact, I’d be looking to install an observation platform. Elevated, so it doesn’t disturb the habitat and gives guests a chance to watch them hunt.”