Page 43 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Reese considered. “Torres del Paine in Chile. Mountains that look like they’re from another planet. Or maybe Iceland, the waterfalls there are unreal. Though honestly, nothing beats canoeing in Algonquin at sunrise. But that’s the Canadian in me talking. Or there’s this village in northern Thailand where they—” He stopped himself. “Sorry, get kinda excited when I talk about traveling. You travel much?” Reese found himself asking the kid. “Seen other places besides Solace Springs?”

Zach’s expression shifted. “Farthest I’ve been is Disneyland for my tenth birthday.”

“That was a good trip,” Grace said from down the table.

“Yeah, it was okay,” Zach said with another shrug. “But like…Disneyland’s not real travel, you know? It’s not like we left the country.”

Reese noticed Grace’s expression fall. Damn, kids could be brutal.

“Folks hear ‘travel’ and picture champagne in first class,” Reese said. “Most of the time it’s long flights, jet lag that knocks you sideways and eating whatever mystery meat the hotel buffet’s serving. Sure, you get moments that are worth it, but most of it’s just logistics.”

Zach didn’t look convinced. “I’d still take it. Better than being stuck here forever.”

Abe raised a bushy eyebrow.

“Hey now,” Grace quickly said. “Here’s pretty spectacular too if you look out the window instead of at your phone.”

“I agree,” Abe said. “Your generation doesn’t appreciate the world around them anymore.”

“Oh God, here we go,” Caleb said under his breath.

“I appreciate it,” Zach said. “I just also want to see other stuff. Nothing ever happens here. It’s true.”

“Nothing ever happens?” Caleb clutched his chest dramatically. “Darling, we have an entire festival dedicated to fish. We have theater. And by theater, I mean just last month, Jean Hobsen accused Davis Milton of stealing her parking spot at the grocery store and there was a full confrontation involving a shopping cart with some very creative language.”

Everyone around the table laughed, except Abe who was standing now and walking to the fire. “Sounds like your son doesn’t match your enthusiasm for the place, Grace,” he said. “And yet you’re proposing to move him on to the more challenging, most remote part of Solace Springs?”

“With the patchiest Wi-Fi,” Mikkel added, then grimaced as he looked at Grace.

Reese saw the look of panic in Grace’s eyes. But that panic lasted all of half a second before she found her footing. “Abe, Zach’s fourteen. Complaining is basically his native language. If I dragged him off to live in the Maldives with a personal chef and a jetski, he’d still find something to moan about. Too much sand, not enough Wi-Fi, the coconuts taste funny. Trust me, it’s not this place that’s the problem. It’s being a teenager.”

The teen girl’s father nodded.

“God, Mom,” Zach said under his breath, sinking even lower into his chair as Reese smiled to himself.

“Pop more logs on while you’re there!” Margaret called over to Abe. “Nights up here bite colder than you’d think,” she explained to the table.

Grace tilted her head. “What, bad insulation?”

“Worse. Bad plumbing,” Abe said, rising and brushing ash from his hands. “A hangover from when they relied on gravity and ran water down from the tower into the kitchens and cellars. Practical enough, but it meant carving out channels, little storage runs. Some of them still there, far as anyone knows.”

Reese’s brows lifted. “Plans show nothing about storage runs under the tower.”

Abe’s mouth tugged into a sly smile. “Not everything gets written down. Some things you just have to know.”

The others chuckled and drifted back into their own conversations, but Reese didn’t. He leaned back, glass in hand, gaze sliding toward the tower windows. Secret storage runs. A more discreet way under the inn. Exactly what he’d been waiting to hear.

Thunder cracked overhead again, loud enough to rattle the dishes. The storm was getting worse, but somehow that just made the inside feel more protected, more separate from the world.

“Why don’t you sing us all a song, Tressa?” Caleb urged his cousin as he gestured to the piano.

Tressa laughed softly and shook her head. “Oh, don’t be daft. You don’t need me—”

“Do it,” Mikkel pushed, grinning. “You know you want to.”

“You’re a singer?” Reese asked her.

“She sure is,” Abe replied. “She even gave our Colt Ashford a run for his money at the Wildflower Festival last year,” he added, referring to the famous rock country singer.