Chapter Fifteen Reese #2
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.
“Our Colt Ashford?” Reese asked.
“Born right here,” Margaret said.
Ella nodded. “He went to school with Caleb, me, and Grace. Always thought rules were optional. Turns out rehab isn’t.”
Reese had booked Ashford once for a Christmas event for his staff: charisma, chaos, the whole package. He knew the type. Burning bright, burning out.
“Go on then, Tressa!” Caleb said.
Tressa hesitated, the stem of her glass turning nervously in her hand, then stood. She walked to the piano, moving with self-conscious grace.
“It’s called ‘The Night We Met’ by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers. It’s a duet,” she said, “but tonight…you’ll have to make do with both parts from me.”
The first notes floated out, soft as breath. Her voice wasn’t big or showy, just clean and real, the kind that went straight to the chest. Reese leaned back, letting the sound wash over him, watching how everyone seemed to quiet under it.
Then she hit a line about searching for trails to follow and something in him cracked a little.
He’d spent half his life following trails.
Business ones, flight paths, new starts.
Always thinking the next place, the next project, would fix the restlessness that wouldn’t quit.
But sitting there now, candlelight flickering across worn wood and familiar faces, it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually stayed anywhere.
He looked up and found Grace watching him from across the table.
She was giving him the kind of look that made a man want to ask questions he had no business asking.
For a brief moment, everything stilled: the chatter, the clinking glasses, the world outside.
Reese felt a pull in his chest. That dangerous, steady ache of wanting something he hadn’t even named yet.
Then the last note fell away and the room erupted in applause, but Reese’s pulse was still caught somewhere in that song…and in Grace’s eyes.
“You’re staring,” Ella said quietly beside him.
Reese snapped his attention back. “What?”
“At Grace,” she whispered. “You’re staring.”
“I’m observing the competition.”
“Is that what we’re calling that particular expression on your face?” Ella’s smile was knowing. “Observing the competition?”
“I don’t have an expression.”
“Hmmm,” Ella said, unconvinced. She took a sip of wine. “Grace is good for this place, you know. She understands it in a way that can’t be bought or studied. It’s in her bones.”
“I can see that,” Reese said carefully.
“Can you?” Ella asked. “Or are you going to buy the inn anyway because you’re used to getting what you want…including pretty pink-haired women like Grace? She’s my friend and she’s had her heart broken. Just don’t want you taking out another chunk.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ella.”
“Oh really? How about you try not to look at her for the next few minutes, then?”
Reese gripped the table, knuckles white, just as Margaret stood up, tapping her wine glass with a fork. “All right, everyone,” she said, “time for the important question: who won?”