Chapter One Grace #2
“Going to have to call you back,” he said into the phone. “I’ve just been…attacked by hors d’oeuvres.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket, full lips curling into a hint of a smile, and Grace got her first real look at him. He was gorgeous, even in his imperfections: a scar through one eyebrow and a slight crook to his nose, like it had been broken once and hadn’t quite set right.
Stop staring, Grace. He’s your competition for that inn!
Before Grace could say anything, a woman in a sleek black dress appeared at the man’s elbow. “Mr. Spencer! Oh my God, are you okay?” She produced a handful of napkins and started dabbing at his shirt.
Mr. Spencer. Grace’s stomach dropped straight through the deck and into the lake.
It was Reese Spencer, the human ATM who was hosting this event.
And, it turned out, the same human ATM who wanted to buy her inn.
The dream she’d been scrimping and saving for, the future she’d been planning down to the last detail…
and this guy could probably outbid her with his pocket change.
“I’ve had worse dumped on me, Erika,” Reese said, eyes still on Grace. He raised that scarred eyebrow. “Or better, depending on your taste. Can you check on Mr. Eastman?”
Erika hesitated, her gaze flicking over Grace, clearly finding her lacking. Then she nodded and glided away.
Alone with her well-funded rival, Grace did what she always did when disaster struck: reached for humor like it was duct tape and tried to joke the mess into submission.
“Well, this is awkward,” she said. “I just dumped an entire tray of appetizers on someone who looks like they’re about to buy half the town.”
“Just a small part of the town.” He plucked one of the tartlets from the pocket of his shirt and took a bite. “These are real good. Maple glaze?”
“Yep, locally sourced from Maple Island’s very own trees,” she said, gesturing to the island. The island with her inn on it.
He tilted his head, a lock of blond hair falling in his eyes. “What next, syrup hand-tapped by folks singing ballads to the trees?”
“Please,” Grace said with an eye roll. “They sing lullabies. Keeps the sap tender. The maples, too.”
He smiled, dimples appearing and turning his whole expression from outrageously attractive to absolutely devastating.
She noticed her mother in the distance then. The same mother who would happily launch her into the next century once she found out what Grace had just done.
“Look,” Grace said quickly, “in all seriousness, I’m really sorry about turning you into a walking appetizer display. Believe it or not, I actually won Best Server in Washington State when I was sixteen. Clearly, I peaked early.”
“Sounds like a very niche competition,” he replied. “Please tell me there were actual judges with scorecards.”
“Oh, there were clipboards and everything. Very official. My main competition was a kid from Spokane who could balance four plates on one arm. Pity he had the personality of wet cardboard.”
Reese laughed and the people around them turned to watch.
Stop it, Grace. You’re flirting with a billionaire who wants to steal your dreams.
She cleared her throat and straightened up. “I couldn’t help overhearing your phone call just now. You’re interested in The Maple Inn?”
The warmth in his gaze cooled fast, like someone had flipped him back to default CEO settings. “That’s right.”
“Why?”
He studied her like she was a puzzle he was working out.
“I mean, there are plenty of investments out there,” she quickly added. “What’s so special about that old place?”
“Bald eagles, for one,” he replied. “There’s a nesting pair on the island.”
“Oh, you mean Doris and Clive?”
Reese blinked. “Doris…and Clive?”
“Yep. They’ve been ruling that island longer than half this town’s been alive.”
Reese crossed his arms, showcasing muscled forearms as he gave her a bemused look.
“Honestly,” Grace continued, “I would not call them an attraction. Doris dive-bombed the sheriff’s hat clean off at the inn’s Christmas drinks last year. The anti-social eagles aren’t the only issue, either. I heard the inn’s a total money pit. The plumbing makes sounds like dying whales.”
“Got folks who can sort that easy.”
Of course he did.
Grace tried a different tactic. “The island can be pretty wild, you know, especially during storms. See those clouds building up?” She nodded toward the sky on the horizon.
“Look all innocent now, but when clouds stack up like that, Solace Springs basically shuts down and waits for it to pass. It gets wild here, on the mainland, let alone that island out there.”
He leaned back against the railing, completely at ease now, that shirt stretching even tighter across his muscled chest. “Maybe I like wild.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You obviously haven’t been around here during a real storm. Forty-foot waves, hurricane-force winds. I’ve known people to get stranded on that island for days.”
“Sounds like an adventure.” His wolfish smile suggested he meant it.
“Well, the wildlife is a nightmare. I mean, Doris and Clive are one issue. But I heard black bears come right up to the inn looking for food. Plus last fall, a family of raccoons moved into the attic and basically held the place hostage.”
His brows knitted together. “Bears? On a lake island in Washington State? I think you might be confusing your local wildlife. Black bears are excellent swimmers, but they don’t typically establish territory on small islands. Not enough food sources to sustain them year-round.”
The guy clearly knew his wildlife. Grace was running out of ammunition. Time for the nuclear option.
“The locals say it’s haunted,” she quickly said. “Guests swear they can hear footsteps at night. Doors opening and closing on their own. A young couple who stayed there last week left in the middle of the night.”
Okay, it was a lie. But she was desperate.
“Haunted.” His smile deepened and so did those dimples. “Even better. Nothing I like more than a property with character.”
Of course he was the type who’d find poltergeists charming instead of problematic.
As she thought that, she noticed a familiar face across the courtyard.
It was her son Zach, looking like he’d been through a blender: muddy soccer kit, grass stains down his top, one shin guard hanging loose…and sporting a black eye that would make a prizefighter proud.
Goddamnit.