Page 89 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“Mom!” Zach pushed through the crowd of rubberneckers.

Grace caught him in a hug he immediately tried to escape. “Are you okay?” she asked him, checking his face.

“Mom, stop, everyone’s watching.” But he squeezed back for a second before pulling away, shooting Reese a look that screamed, I know what you did with my mother and I will be requiring therapy.

Did people know? She felt like they did. Was it written all over her face? Reese’s face?

They all headed to the inn’s dining room, which was a hive of activity: the guests who’d been trapped in the inn since Monday evening getting their stuff together…including Ella, who looked particularly disorientated and exhausted, glasses askew. She gave Grace a hug then whispered in her ear: “We’re so doing coffee after this. I want all the details. I can tell from the look on your faces you’ve been having some fun up there in the tower.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Ella grimaced and nodded. “You’re glowing like someone who just got pressed up against old stone walls by a gorgeous billionaire.”

Grace wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die right here.”

“You’re going to live, and you’re going to tell me and Sophie everything over coffee.” Ella squeezed her arm. “Also, for what it’s worth? Good for you. That man is ridiculously hot and you deserve some fun.”

Ella swept off to finish gathering her stuff, leaving Grace looking at Reese nearby—rumpled and gorgeous and catching her eye with a knowing smile. She realized she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it.

Abe strolled over then, looking between Grace and Reese. “I’m putting my decision on hold. We’ll need to assess the structural damage to the corridor and tower door so you both have a clearer picture of the repairs needed before deciding to go forward.”

Margaret patted Grace’s arm. “You must be exhausted after all that activity, dear,” she said with a little eyebrow wiggle. “Let’s get you some real food.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open as Reese shook his head, smiling as he looked down at the floor. Then the sound of helicopter blades had everyone scrambling to the windows like kids hearing the ice-cream truck. A black helicopter descended onto the clearing behind the inn, looking about as natural in Solace Springs as a stripper at a church picnic.

Reese’s phone rang. He sighed and put it to his ear. “Erika?”

Even from across the room, Grace could hear his assistant’s shrill panic. The helicopter door opened and out stepped the same woman who Grace had seen at the event on Sunday, looking like she could murder someone with her stilettos and consider it cardio.

Hurricane Erika burst in, all corporate fury and terrifying efficiency. “Mr. Spencer, we really need to leave now,” she said, handing Reese a clean and ironed white shirt. “The Cuban authorities are waiting, the insurance adjusters are having aneurysms, and the board wants an emergency call in”—she checked her watch—“forty minutes.”

Reese turned to Grace as he buttoned up his shirt, clearly aware of every eye in the room watching them like this was the season finale of their favorite drama. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight. “I have to go.”

“Of course. Go!”

Look at me being all mature and not showing he’d been inside me just a few hours ago.

“It’s been great getting to know you.” He paused, ran a hand through his already wrecked hair. “Really great. We should…swap numbers.”

Swap numbers. Like they were college kids who’d hooked up at a party, not two people who’d spent over thirty-two hours stripping each other down to their bones—metaphorically and literally.

Grace tried for casual, failed spectacularly. “Sure!” Her voice came out too bright. She fumbled for her phone, nearly dropped it, caught it, then couldn’t remember her own passcode for a mortifying second. Everyone was watching, Tressa giving her a sympathetic look. Luke had his arms crossed like a disapproving dad. Zach looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. Ella was practically taking notes.

“I’m…my phone’s being weird,” Grace muttered, finally getting it unlocked. “What’s your number?”

He pressed his phone against hers. “Just shared it with you.”

Their eyes met over their phones. The room, the crowd, everything else faded for just a second. “I’ll call you,” he said, and it sounded like a promise and a goodbye all at once.

“Yeah, go, go!” Grace waved him off, going for breezy and landing somewhere around manic. “Cuba’s waiting. Fire and brimstone and insurance adjusters, oh my!”

He walked toward the door where Erika stood tapping her foot. Then he stopped. Turned back. The whole room held its breath. “Come with me, Grace.”

“This is so much BETTER than Elizabeth Gaskell could have written!” Ella declared, practically swooning.

“What?” Grace said. “I can’t just—”

“I mean you and Zach. Both of you,” he said, looking over at Zach. “Come with me.” He moved closer, all intensity and terrible ideas. “Figure I’ll need to be there for three, four days tops. There’s this amazing hotel in Havana. Zach would love it—snorkeling, historical tours—”