Page 50 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“The tower itself is solid,” Margaret now called through. “It’s the most solid structure here. Storm won’t touch you. There’s a bed upstairs and a small kitchen with supplies for the honeymooners who were due tomorrow.” Big sigh. “That won’t be happening now, considering the storm. I’d better try to call them. Anyway, plenty of fresh food in the fridge for you, you’ll just have to share a bed.” Reese crossed his arms, smiling as he looked down at the ground. “You won’t starve or freeze, though.”

Just die of awkwardness. That was still on the table.

“How long before the fire guys can get out here, do you reckon?” Reese asked.

“Could be morning,” Abe replied. “Could be noon. Could be longer depending on how bad it is out there.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Her life was one big cosmic joke and the universe was really committed to the bit.

“What about the storage runs under the foundations you mentioned?” Grace called out, grasping at straws. Reese looked up, interest in his eyes. “Maybe there’s a way to get there from here.” A convenient trapdoor that led directly back to her room where she could die of embarrassment in private.

“Not accessible from the tower,” Abe replied. Grace noticed a frown appear between Reese’s brows as he looked down at the floor. “Separate entrance entirely, over by the kitchen. You’ll just have to wait it out.”

“Zach…?”

“Zach’ll be fine, Grace,” Margaret replied. “I just checked in, he’s still sleeping soundly. I’ll make sure he gets a real breakfast, keep him busy. He’s in good hands.”

Grace closed her eyes. Zach was safe. That was really what mattered.

“Maybe this is good for you both,” Abe said. “Chance to thrash things out between yourselves. Figure out who’s really the best person to take this place. No presentations, no panels. Just you two and the truth.”

A pause.

Grace looked at Reese. He was staring back at her, backlit by moonlight, shirtless, those wolf-green eyes unreadable in the shadows.

This was not good.

This was the opposite of good.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Except Reese looked totally chill about it all. Maybe even…happy about it?

“Come on,” Reese said, already heading for the spiral staircase. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The wind howled outside as they climbed the steps, rattling the latticed windows, making the whole tower creak like a ship at sea. But Grace barely heard it over the sound of her own traitorous thoughts cataloging every detail of Reese Spencer’s body. The way his back muscles shifted under his tanned skin with each step. The way his spine created that valley down the center, the play of shadow and light from the moonlight making everything look like some Renaissance painting of masculine perfection.

She was in so much trouble.

They stepped into the room. The tower suite was circular, following the curve of the stone walls. Moonlight poured through three arched windows, illuminating everything in silver and shadow. The ceiling beamed overhead and was hung with an old iron chandelier.

The whole room smelled like old wood and stone, with undertones of something spicy—cinnamon maybe or clove. Like autumn had been distilled into air.

To the left, a small kitchen area tucked into the curve: vintage stove, worn butcher’s block counters, open shelving. To the right, a door that presumably led to the bathroom. Directly ahead, built into the stone wall between two windows, was a small bar. An actual bar with an array of bottles, glass glinting like treasure.

And there, the bed which sat against the far curve of the wall. A solid four-poster, dark wood that matched the beams with a ruby-colored duvet that matched the curtains, thick and inviting. It was the kind of bed poets wrote about. The kind of bed that had definitely seen its share of dramatic declarations and ill-advised decisions.

Also, it was the only bed in the room. Right there. Mocking her.

A shirtless Reese moved behind the bar, playing bartender like this was just another day for him. “Drink?”

Grace knew she should say no. But her mouth had other ideas.

“Yeah,” she heard herself say. “I’m going to need one.”

Nineteen

Reese