Page 26 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“Yep. Absolutely.” She smoothed down her damp blazer, winding her hair back into a bun. “Okay. Professional face on. Let’s do this.”

They climbed the porch steps, boards creaking under their feet in a way that was either charming or concerning depending on your perspective. Grace was going with charming. The heavy oak door had a brass knocker shaped like a maple leaf.

Before she could reach for it, the door swung open.

“Grace! You made it!” Margaret Blackwell stood in the doorway, her silver hair in a perfect twist, walking stick in her hand. She frowned when she caught sight of Zach. “Why aren’t you at school, Zachary?”

“Fight,” he said at the same time Grace said, “Ill.”

“Fighting a cold,” Grace quickly said.

Margaret took in Zach’s black eye and bruised knuckles, then frowned. “I see. Well,” she said as she ushered them inside, “the more the merrier. We’ve got quite the group assembled. Abe’s idea. He wanted to make this a classic panel interview. Get everyone’s perspective.”

Grace’s stomach dropped. “Panel interview?”

“Oh yes! Always good to get different views, don’t you think?” Margaret was already leading them down a hallway lined with fading wallpaper and photos of the inn over the decades.

Panel interview. Other people. This is fine. Everything is fine.

They emerged into what had probably once been the main parlor but now served as a combination living room, bar, and apparently impromptu conference space. Stormy autumn light streamed through tall windows, illuminating a room that managed to be both shabby and grand. Leather furniture that had seen better decades, a bar made of oak that belonged in a museum, built-in bookshelves crammed with books that had well-worn spines. A fire crackled in a massive stone fireplace, and the whole space smelled like woodsmoke and old books and coffee.

And it was full of people.

Abe stood by the fireplace with Caleb and Mikkel. There were some guests in the restaurant, including a pretty, dark-haired teenage girl who was making Zach do the universal teen boy “puff up his wavy hair and check her out under his fringe” look.

And there, leaning against the bar with a mug of coffee in hand, wearing dark pants and a gray shirt, was Reese Spencer, broad shoulders filling out the shirt’s fabric like it had been cut for him, sleeves shoved back as if even clothes had to give him room. The faint scars on his face only sharpened the effect. Reminders he wasn’t some polished suit, but someone who’d fought and won.

Her competition. The powerful man who stood between her and everything she wanted. She should’ve looked at him and seen nothing but an obstacle.

Except his eyes found hers across the room—icy green, steady, wolfish—and her stomach flipped. Damn it. He wasn’t just an obstacle. He was dangerous, magnetic, the type of man who made you feel like the fight might be worth losing just to see what he’d do when he won.

She tore her gaze away, annoyed at herself, reminding herself of one important fact: this was war.

“Grace Sullivan,” Abe boomed, breaking the moment. “Is Zach your assistant for the day?”

Grace found her professional smile from somewhere. “Hi, Abe. I hope you don’t mind, Zach is…not feeling one hundred percent.”

“The more perspectives the better, I say,” Abe said, clocking Zach’s black eye.

“Now,” Margaret said, “Caleb and Mikkel have been kind enough to offer their services. And you know Ella over there, your trivia host and our local history expert.” Ella gave them a wave. “Oh, and our niece Tressa, of course,” she said, gesturing to a young woman moving quietly between tables with a tray of food and drinks in her hands.

Tressa had arrived from Ireland three years ago after her husband died. No family left in the country, no money either. Abe and Margaret had taken her in, and she worked part time at the inn now, part time as a music teacher at the school. She didn’t talk much, maybe it was the grief. But when she sang…wow. Grace had been blown away when Tressa had performed at the Wildflower Fest the summer before. Just her voice, no other instruments. It had been one of the stillest, most powerful things Grace had ever heard. And she’d been sure to tell her that after.

She gave Grace a soft smile.

“And Reese you know, of course,” Abe said.

“The hot competition,” she heard Caleb whisper.

Grace nodded. “Mr. Spencer,” she said.

“Hello, Grace. Just Reese is fine.” Reese turned to Zach. “Hey, Zach.”

He put a fist out to Zach. Zach hesitated a moment then halfheartedly fist-bumped the billionaire. She knew her son, could see the struggle on his face between wanting to hate Reese and wanting to ask what kind of cars he owned.

“That’s a beauty of a shiner,” Reese said. “The other guy come out worse, or what?”

Zach shrugged. “Worse. School suspended me for it.”