Page 12 of The Sugar Maple Inn

The crowd roared and Reese dropped his apple in defeat, laughing despite himself.

“Guess that’s what happens when you go up against a pro,” Grace said, wringing out her hair. “Been bobbing since I was five.”

He ran a hand through his own soaked hair, grin lopsided. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said, voice carrying over the cheers. His eyes found Grace’s. “Round three’s mine.”

“You wish,” Grace shot back.

The trivia was the tiebreaker, set up near the historical society booth by a woman called Ella with messy light brown hair and oversized glasses, wearing long autumn-leaf-pattern socks over brown leggings. She was juggling a clipboard, a coffee thermos, and several pens.

“Ten questions each about Solace Springs history,” Ella announced, dropping one of her pens and nearly upending her thermos as she bent to retrieve it. “Most correct answers wins. Oh, and fair warning, I’m a stickler for pronunciation because words matter and also, I may have been watching too much Jeopardy lately and it’s given me a power complex about being the question master.” She laughed at her own joke, pushing her glasses up with the end of her clipboard.

Reese wasn’t worried. He’d done his homework before coming to town, researched the area’s history as part of his due diligence.

They went question for question. Grace knew everything: founding dates, historical figures, even the story behind the controversial fountain that caused a three-year feud in the 1960s.

“That’s correct!” Ella said after Grace’s answer about the fountain. “Though fun fact, the feud actually lasted three years and two months if you count the passive-aggressive church bake sale incident of 1967, which I personally do because my grandmother was involved and she held grudges like—” She caught herself. “Sorry, tangent. Next question.”

By the tenth question, they were tied at eight correct each and Grace was looking annoyed, chin tipped, eyes sparking like she might bite. Reese’s grin deepened. She reminded him of a wild horse he’d had brought into his ranch in Andalusia: beautiful, furious and untamed. Made him want to tame her.

“Sudden death,” Ella declared. “First person to miss loses.” She paused dramatically. “Grace, what was the name of the indigenous tribe that originally fished these waters?”

Grace’s confident expression faltered for just a second. “The…Stillaguamish?”

“I’m sorry, that’s incorrect.” Ella winced sympathetically, like it physically pained her to deliver bad news. Reese was sensing some bias here. “Though interesting guess because they were in the broader region, just not these specific waters, and there’s actually this fascinating connection to the fishing rights treaties of the eighteen fifties that—” She stopped herself. “Reese?”

“The Snoqualmie people,” Reese said. He’d learned that during his environmental impact research.

“Nope,” Ella said.

Reese frowned. “What?”

“It’s the Snoqualmie,” she repeated, slow and deliberate. “You said Snoqual-MAY.”

He straightened a little. “I said Snoqual-MIE.”

Ella shook her head, grinning like she’d caught him red-handed. “Nope. You Snoqual-MAY’d it.”

That flicker of competitiveness sparked in his chest. “I didn’t say that, I—”

Ella tapped her clipboard with authority. “Like I said, pronunciation counts. It’s in the rules. Though honestly, most people get it wrong, so you’re in good company. I did a whole podcast episode about commonly mispronounced local indigenous names and—”

Abe stepped forward, interrupting her. “Well, I’ll be damned. A draw after all that.”

Reese thought about pushing the point. But as he looked around him, he realized he didn’t have a chance against these people who’d known and clearly loved his competitor all her life.

“Both of you showed you can handle yourselves,” Abe said, “which is more than I can say for most folks who come through here making big promises.” He gestured toward the island. “One last challenge. I want to know about your plans for the place, so come to the inn tomorrow at two PM sharp.”

With that, he turned and marched away, Margaret following him with the satisfied look of someone who’d just watched good entertainment.

Reese shook his head. These people weren’t making it easy for him. “Hell of a match,” he said to Grace, putting his hand out to her.

She ignored his hand, crossing her arms in that defiant pose that seemed to be her default setting. “Look, let’s be honest, shall we?” she said. “You don’t need this inn like I do. You just want it. I need it.”

Here it comes, Reese thought. The heartfelt pitch.

“This is my home,” Grace continued, her voice gaining intensity. “My son’s home. I grew up going to that island with friends. I’ve been looking at that inn my whole life thinking, Someday, someday it’ll be mine. You must have dozens of properties, hundreds of options. Surely there’s somewhere else you can set your greedy eyes on?”

Reese looked at her—really looked. Hair still damp from the lake, eyes bright with desperation and determination. Part of him wanted to give in and walk away. She clearly loved this place in a way he couldn’t claim to understand.