Page 42 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Reese picked up his own fork and tried Grace’s ravioli. Damn, it was good.

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Well?” she said quietly.

“Tastes like someone bottled the best parts of October and put them on a plate,” he admitted.

Her mouth curved slightly, satisfaction mixed with surprise. Like she’d expected him to find fault, to diminish what she’d done.

They all ate in comfortable silence for a while as the fire crackled and popped, sending shadows dancing across the walls. More food appeared, plates passing, people commenting, wine flowing, voices rising over the sound of rain hammering the windows. Reese found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did. Usually at dinners like this—business dinners, networking events, meals where everyone was performing—he was calculating. Reading the room, looking for angles, staying sharp. This felt different.

He looked out the window toward the town’s lights spread out across Solace Lake. It reminded him of his childhood town. The way people came together even when there wasn’t much to go around. His neighborhood had been rough: half the dads on shifts at the mill, half the moms pulling doubles like his own. Come October, folks would drag whatever scrap wood they had into a bonfire, fry fish if they’d been lucky at the river and tell stories loud enough to drown out the worry about bills. They didn’t have money, but they knew how to make it feel like something anyway.

Later, a different kind of community. The house he’d built with his wife in West Vancouver, perched high with glass walls looking over the ocean. For all its gloss and money, there’d been a real sense of community there, too. Neighbors who organized street barbecues, who turned out with casseroles when someone’s kid landed in the hospital, who showed up at one another’s houses with bottles of wine just because the view was too good not to share. That was why he’d chosen it. Community. For the first time in his life, he’d thought: This is it. Not just a house, but a place where people knew his name. A life that felt rooted.

They’d hosted their first fall gathering there, catered canapés and pinot poured like water, neighbors wandering in and out of the house under strings of lanterns as if it had always been that way, as if he really belonged.

And then it had all blown apart. Fast, brutal, final. One night he’d gone to bed believing he’d found home. The next, it was over…and the idea of home with it.

Never again, he’d told himself.

Reese watched as Grace refilled water glasses, making sure everyone had what they needed, falling naturally into the role of host even though technically she was just as much a guest as he was. This was what she’d been doing her whole life: taking care of people, making sure they felt welcome, creating these moments of warmth and connection.

He felt an urge to see her waited on instead of waiting. Pampered instead of serving.

An image hit him with unexpected force then: Grace in a hotel somewhere, her hair spread across expensive pillows. That body—the slight curves he’d been trying not to notice all night—relaxed instead of tense. Every inch of her soft and cared for instead of wound tight with responsibility and stress.

Christ.

He took a drink of wine, trying to redirect his thoughts, but they weren’t cooperating.

Instead, he found himself imagining what sounds she’d make if someone concentrated on her pleasure instead of her always focusing on everyone else’s comfort.

You’re supposed to be competing with her, he reminded himself. Not fantasizing about getting her horizontal.

He swallowed, turning to Zach, looking for a way to drive the images from his mind. “So Zach,” he said, “you into gaming?”

“Yeah,” Zach replied. “Mainly RPG stuff. Just been playing Skyrim.”

“Classic. One of my buddies up in Edmonton back home works at BioWare.”

“No way!” Zach replied, eyes lighting up at the mention of the company who owned one of his favorite games, Mass Effect. “That’s what I want to do, game development. I’ve been working on this indie game with some guys online.”

Reese noticed Grace look over, listening with interest.

“Yeah? What kind of game?” Reese asked.

The question seemed to unlock something in the kid. His shoulders relaxed slightly, his voice got more confident. “Survival horror. But like, set in the Pacific Northwest. Lots of forest atmosphere, rain, fog.”

“Is it based on this island?” the teen girl across from him asked in a German accent.

Zach’s cheeks flushed. “Kind of.” He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “The environment design is pretty influenced by it. Lots of water, abandoned structures, that whole vibe.”

The girl smiled. “I like the sound of that.” Zach’s blush deepened.

“So, Reese,” Ella asked, “I imagine you travel a lot, for your business?”

Reese nodded. “I do.”

“That must be sick,” Zach said. “What’s the coolest place you’ve been?”