Page 41 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Grace felt heat creep up her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She has a thing about people who work hard. Who don’t take shortcuts. Who build things with their own hands instead of just throwing money at problems.”

Grace found herself softening despite her better judgment. Their eyes met. Held. The air between them felt thick, charged with possibility and wine and something Grace absolutely could not afford to name. The kitchen suddenly felt very small, very warm, very—

“How’s it going in here?” Margaret’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

They sprang apart. Grace nearly knocked over her maple syrup. Reese turned back to his venison with sudden intense focus.

“Great!” Grace said, her voice too bright. “Just finishing up the last dishes.”

Margaret surveyed the kitchen—the organized chaos of their cooking, the plates already prepared, the flush on Grace’s face that definitely had nothing to do with the heat from the stove. Her expression suggested she’d seen exactly what she’d interrupted, but she was too polite to comment.

“Wonderful. We’re ready when you are. Everyone’s getting hungry.”

“We’ll bring it out in five minutes,” Reese said, not looking up from his plating.

“We should get this out there,” Grace said after Margaret left. “Before Margaret sends a search party.”

“Right. Yeah.”

They finished loading up the plates, Grace very deliberately making sure not to look back at Reese. Had that been a moment just now? That had felt like a moment. The way he’d looked at her, the way the air had felt thick enough to cut—

Stop it, she told herself firmly. He’s your competition. Your very rich, very temporary competition, who’s going to disappear the second this project stops being interesting. This is not a moment. This is you being an idiot. Get your head in the game, Grace.

What was it WildTrailGuide said? It’s not simple. It’s hard as hell. But you’re harder.

“Ready?” Reese asked, picking up his first plates.

“Yeah,” Grace said, grabbing hers. “Let’s do this.”

As she followed him out of the kitchen, she caught her reflection in the window. Flushed, strands of her hair falling down from her bun, eyes too bright.

Yep, she looked like someone who’d just had a moment.

Damn it.

Fifteen

Reese

The dining room was packed, twenty people crammed around a table that had probably seen a century of meals just like this one. Abe and Margaret had suggested the guests all sit together. The old windows rattled with each gust of wind and outside the world had gone dark and violent. In the dining room, though? Warm and solid, with candlelight everywhere because the storm had knocked out power to half the building. The flames snagged on brass candlesticks, flickering across bowls of miniature pumpkins and wax candles that decorated the center of the long table. A fire crackled in the stone hearth at one end, throwing shadows across walls lined with family photos and antique maps. The air smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, that particular autumn scent that reminded Reese of his mother’s kitchen back in Thunder Bay on Thanksgiving. Real cozy. The kind of place that made you want to hunker down and wait out whatever nature was throwing at you. It was a place that had weathered worse and would weather worse again.

“All right everyone,” Margaret announced, standing. “Grace and Reese have prepared dinner for us. For our wonderful guests who aren’t aware, they’re vying for ownership of this inn and this will be part of our decision-making. You’ll get half a portion from each of them, so you can judge fairly. Welcome to our very informal, very storm-bound cook-off.”

“Finally,” Caleb said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve been preparing my palate for the past couple of hours. By wine, mostly, but still.”

“Oh my God,” Ella said as she took in the dishes. “This all looks incredible.”

Abe picked up his fork. “Let’s see if they taste as good as they look.”

The room went quiet except for the storm and the sound of forks on plates. Reese watched faces, reading reactions. The scatty history-buff woman, Ella, closed her eyes on her first bite of venison. Caleb made a noise over the ravioli that was borderline obscene. Zach was demolishing both dishes with the focus only teenage boys could muster, not caring about the competition, just about the food.

“All right, moment of truth,” Grace said, cutting into Reese’s venison as she sat next to him. The first bite made her close her eyes involuntarily. “Hmmm,” she breathed.

“That good?” he said in a low voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Absolutely not,” she whispered back, continuing to chew with delight as she winked at Reese.