Page 71 of The Sugar Maple Inn

The suit fit him perfectly. Broad shoulders filling out the jacket, the vest emphasizing his lean waist, the whole thing making him look dangerous and sophisticated and impossibly handsome. His hair was still messed up from her fingers running through it and somehow that just made it better.

He looked like he’d walked out of a black-and-white photograph and into her life.

“You’re staring,” Reese said, amused.

“You look really good in that suit.”

“You look incredible in that dress.” That wolfish smile appeared. “Maybe we should skip supper.”

“Reese Spencer, eat your pasta and drink your wine.” He laughed as Grace raised her glass. “To thirty-seven,” she said. “And to celebrating birthdays, even when you claim you don’t want to.”

“To birthdays,” Reese agreed, clinking his glass against hers. “And to women who don’t take no for an answer.”

“Damn right.”

They ate and talked, Grace telling stories about Zach’s birthday disasters: the time he’d wanted a Batman cake and she’d accidentally made it look more like a bat-shaped blob, the year he’d invited his entire class and only three kids showed up.

“That’s heartbreaking,” Reese said.

“It was. But we made it work. Ordered extra pizza, played ridiculous games, pretended it was exactly what we’d planned.” Grace smiled at the memory. “He still says it was his favorite birthday because he got more cake.”

“Smart kid.”

Grace refilled their wine glasses, the bottle definitely lighter than it should be. “What about you? Best birthday memory?”

Reese was quiet for a moment, turning his wine glass in his hands. The candlelight caught the angles of his face, made the dust on his shoulder look like gold.

“I was ten,” he said finally. “My dad took me fishing. Just the two of us, this lake about an hour from Thunder Bay. We didn’t catch anything but he taught me how to cast properly, told me stories about when he was a kid.” Reese smiled, but there was something sad in it. “We got ice cream on the way home. He let me get three scoops even though my mom would’ve said it’d ruin my supper.”

“That sounds perfect,” Grace said softly.

“It was.” Reese took a drink of wine. “It was also the last birthday I spent with him. Birthdays after that felt—” He shrugged. “—complicated. Every birthday is a reminder I wasn’t enough of a reason for him to want to live.”

Grace reached across the table, covered his hand with hers. “That’s not on you. You know that, right?”

“Intellectually, sure.” Reese turned her hand over, threading his fingers through hers. “But ten-year-old me didn’t see it that way. Ten-year-old me just thought I must’ve done something wrong.”

Grace squeezed his hand and they sat like that for a moment, hands linked across the table, the music playing softly around them. “Do you know why he took his life?”

“Money troubles, maybe. That’s what my mom thinks. What about your dad?” Reese asked.

“He died a few years ago,” Grace said. “Cancer. Pancreatic. He was diagnosed and gone within six months.”

“Grace, I’m sorry. What was he like?”

She smiled. “He was a good dad, a great grandad.” She peered toward the window. “He’d bring me to the island a lot when I was little, teach me about the trees and the wildlife. He’s one of the reasons I love this place so much, I think. He made me see the magic in it.”

She noticed Reese frown slightly. “Sounds like he gave you a gift,” he said.

“He did. But I’d trade it for one more day with him.”

The air between them felt suddenly heavy. This was beginning to feel like more than just a storm-induced fling for Grace. It was beginning to feel like something that could hurt her when it ended.

“Dessert!” she announced, needing to break the moment before she said something stupid like, I’m falling for you. She produced her improvised creation: cookies crumbled over chocolate and preserves with whipped cream. “It’s very thrown together. Don’t judge me.”

“It looks great.”

“It looks like something a drunk person would make at two AM.”