Page 28 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Despite herself, Grace felt a flicker of…something at Reese’s eagle plan. It wasn’t a terrible idea. The eagles were magnificent, and most people never got to see them up close.

Then she caught herself. No. He’s the competition. Stop finding merit in his plans.

“What about jobs?” Margaret asked.

“Local hires for everything,” Reese said. “Guides, maintenance, hospitality staff. I’m not interested in bringing in outside people. Half the value is in the community’s relationship with the land.”

“See, that’s good,” Caleb said, pointing at Reese with a cookie. “Very smooth.” Grace shot him a look. “But also…very much what we want to hear. If he actually knew the town, he wouldn’t really be wanting to hire any of the reprobates there.”

Mikkel shook his head, then turned to Reese. “Tell me more about your plans for sustainability.”

“Of course,” Reese said. “I want to keep the character but fix the infrastructure. Solar panels hidden on the north slope where guests won’t see them. Geothermal for heating.”

Zach had his phone out under the table—Grace could see the glow—but his eyes kept flicking up to Reese as he talked. He was actually paying attention, which was more than he did in most of his classes, according to his teachers.

Grace found herself watching Reese too, the way he sat there, one ankle crossed over his knee, completely relaxed while discussing millions of dollars like it was pocket change.

The way he gestured with his large hands, the coiled confidence in every line of his body. This was a man who’d never walked into a room wondering if he belonged there.

“The goal,” Reese continued, “is to make it sustainable without making it look like we’re trying to make it sustainable.”

“Very good,” Mikkel said, taking notes.

“Yes, that’s quite the vision,” Ella murmured. “Very aligned with current luxury eco-tourism trends, especially—” She paused as Abe gave her a “stop talking” look.

“You make it all sound easy, Reese,” Abe said cynically. “Just throw money at it and make it sustainable?”

“Like ordering from Amazon but with eagles?” Caleb added in a stage whisper.

“Caleb,” Margaret sighed.

“What? I’m asking the hard questions! That’s what panels are for, right? Probing discourse?” He turned to Grace. “See, I’m helping you, darling. Making him work for it.”

“Nothing about this is easy,” Reese said evenly. “But having resources means you can do it right. Take the time, hire the right people, not cut corners because the budget won’t stretch.”

The unspoken implication hung in the air: unlike some people.

Grace felt heat rise in her chest. She took another sip of coffee, forcing herself to stay quiet. Getting defensive now would only prove his point.

“And your connection to the area?” Abe asked. “The Sullivans go back many generations,” he said, gesturing to Grace.

Grace nodded. His money couldn’t buy roots like that.

“No connections, as far as I know,” Reese said, though Grace sensed he was holding something back.

“How long do you even plan to stay? Sorry,” she quickly added, looking at Abe. “I hope it’s okay for me to ask questions too?”

“Of course and it’s an important question,” Abe said. “You planning to live here, or is this an investment you’ll manage from a distance?”

Grace noticed something flicker across Reese’s face. Not quite discomfort, but a tightening around his eyes that suggested she’d hit something real.

“I’d stay on-site during the renovation,” he said. “I’ve got a caravan I use for projects like this. It’s equipped for long-term stays, so I can oversee the work directly, make sure it’s done right.”

Please. Grace had seen photos of the “caravan.” Calling that thing a caravan was like calling a yacht a rowboat. Custom-built mobile home with solar panels and probably a wine fridge.

“But that doesn’t answer the question: how long would you stay?” Grace asked. She met his eyes directly. “I mean, I’ve read about your projects. The wildlife sanctuary in Costa Rica, that eco-lodge in Norway. You’re there for the renovation, very hands-on, then you bounce the second the ribbon’s cut.” She kept her tone light, almost teasing, but her eyes stayed cold. “What’s your usual? Six weeks before you get bored? Two months before some other shiny project catches your attention?”

Reese’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened, like he was reassessing her. She wasn’t just some waitress who’d dumped appetizers on him. She’d done her homework.