Chapter Forty-One Reese
Forty-One
Reese
Reese was merely surviving. Not participating. Not engaging. Just…surviving.
He gave himself a week. Seven days to go through the motions without actually being present. Eating because his body required fuel. Drinking coffee because the alternative was staring at walls. Breathing because the biology demanded it.
After that, he’d throw himself back in. Leave Solace Springs. Bury himself in work. Participate again.
But for now? Surviving was enough.
He stood at the window of the large lake house he’d rented, staring out at Solace Lake.
The lake was copper today. Autumn leaves floating on the surface like scattered coins.
The island sat in the middle distance, tower visible through the trees.
And beyond that, the town. Solace Springs.
Where Grace was probably working right now.
Serving coffee. Smiling at customers. Pretending he’d never existed.
His phone sat on the counter. Silent. He’d been ignoring it for days.
Erika had called seventeen times. Left increasingly frantic voicemails. Something about the Singapore deal going sideways. About investors getting nervous. About needing his signature on contracts worth several million.
Didn’t matter.
He could afford to lose a couple million. Had lost more on worse bets.
The one call he had answered was from the helicopter repair service that morning. His bird was ready. Fixed. They’d have it fueled and waiting at the hangar by five. He’d already arranged for a car to pick him up at four. Take him to the airfield. Get him back to Canada where he belonged.
Two more hours and he’d be gone.
What he couldn’t afford was feeling like this. Soft. Loose. Like his skin had been peeled back and everything underneath was exposed.
Grace was in his head. Day, noon, and night. The way she’d looked at him in the tower. How she’d felt in his arms. The vulnerability in her eyes when she opened herself to him.
He’d thought about messaging her. Explaining. His thumb had hovered over her contact more times than he could count.
A knock at the door pulled him from his spiral.
Reese frowned. Nobody knew he was still here except the guy who owned it and that guy was in Tokyo.
He crossed to the door, whiskey in hand and pulled it open.
Abe Blackwell stood on the porch, holding a leather folder.
“Been trying to get hold of you,” Abe said without preamble. “Phone goes straight to voicemail. Then got told by Cheryl across the road that you’re staying here.”
“Sorry. Been off the grid a bit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. “How can I help, Abe?”
“I’d like to sell you the inn.” Abe held up the folder. “Contract. Standard terms.”
Reese stared at him.
The inn. The whole reason he’d come to Solace Springs in the first place. The property that sat on top of his family’s buried secrets. The acquisition that should’ve been straightforward until Grace Sullivan had complicated everything.
“What about Grace?” The question was out before Reese could stop it. Before he could pretend not to care.
Abe’s eyebrow rose. “She put up a good fight. But her projections barely work on paper, you know that. Place needs serious investment, especially with the recent damage. And she can’t afford that. You can.”
Reese realized he was disappointed. That shocked him. He should be relieved. Victorious. He’d won. The inn was his. He could excavate the cellar, find whatever his family had hidden, finally have answers to questions that had driven him across three continents.
Except all he felt was hollow.
Because Grace should have this place. She needed it. Needed something that was hers, not handed down or settled for. Something she’d built herself instead of inheriting from people who’d left.
And hell, that place needed her. Needed her vision and her passion and her willingness to fight for it. Needed someone who saw it as a home instead of an acquisition. Who’d fill it with warmth instead of treating it like just another property in a portfolio.
Reese had plenty of properties. Grace had nothing but dreams and a teenage kid.
For once in his life, Reese Spencer didn’t want to be the one who won.
Abe watched him, watery blue eyes curious. Then he nodded at the whiskey. “Any more of that going?”
Reese stepped back. Let him in. Grabbed another glass from the kitchen and poured the liquid that had been sustaining him the past few days.
They sat in the living room. Leather chairs facing the lake. The tower visible through the windows.
Abe took a sip. Made an appreciative sound. “Good stuff.”
“Macallan 25.”
“Figures.” Abe settled back in the chair, looking at the glimpses of tower on Maple Island. “You know the history of that tower?”
“Some. Built in 1857.”
Abe swirled his whiskey. “Well, I did some digging in the local archives this morning. Before the tower was built, there was nothing on that island but trees and eagles. Then came the settlers after gold was discovered in the state. Your people, all the way from Norway.” Reese paused, raising an eyebrow at the old man.
“But I think you know that already, don’t you?
” Abe continued. “The Spencers built the first structure: a cabin, mostly. Lived there for a generation. They got wealthy with their trade and their gold. Built the tower.”
Reese nodded. “I know.”
Abe nodded too, took another sip. “Your great-great-great-great…damn, I don’t know how many greats, but some kinda great-grandfather to you, Harald Berg?” Reese nodded, leaning forward, intrigued. “Smart traders. Resourceful. But it wasn’t the money that stuck in the records. It was the feud.”
Reese raised an eyebrow. “Feud?”
Abe nodded. “Found a letter one of the workers sent to his ma. I’ll have it sent to you but to sum up: mid eighteen hundred, two families staked claims to that island.
Spencers and the Lavoies. Your ancestors came from Norway with big ideas.
The Lavoies were already here in Solace Springs.
French-Canadian settlers. Worked the land hard, didn’t have much.
” A pause. “But what they did have was a daughter. And your ancestor—Harald Berg—he fell for her.”
Reese leaned forward, interested. “Her name was Odette,” Abe continued.
“They were kids when they met, not much older than Grace’s boy.
Used to meet by the lake, sneak off to the island your family claimed when no one was watching.
And Harald, fool that he was, promised he’d make something for her.
Something lasting. Said he’d build a home they’d never have to leave.
” Abe’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “He built a tower.”
Reese took a slug of his whiskey.
“They got married in that tower,” Abe continued.
“Small ceremony. Just family. Problem was, Harald hid something under that tower. Nobody knows what. Some said it was treasure. Others said it was smuggled goods. Many more thought it was harvest stock. Something they couldn’t legally sell, or didn’t want the Lavoies to claim.
But whatever it was, it caused a rupture.
” He glanced at Reese. “And when Harald found Odette’s brother and pa digging for treasure on the island one night, Harald blamed her. ”
“Odette?”
“Yup. Said she’d told her family something—some location, some secret.
Harald, being a damn fool, drove her away.
So she took off for Canada with the children, your ancestors.
Married someone else with the surname Spencer, gave her children that name too, started the Spencer branch of your family tree.
Started a whole new life.” Abe stared at the bottom of his glass.
“Harald stayed. Lived and died in Solace Springs.
Never married again. They say he used to walk past the lake in winter and just stare at the island.
Like he was still waiting for someone to come back.
“And here you are,” Abe said, gesturing to Reese. “A billionaire. Alone in a house he doesn’t own, thinking about a girl he let slip through his fingers.”
Reese shook his head, smiled. The old sea dog saw more than he let on.
Abe set down his empty glass. Stood.
“The contract’s yours if you want it. Take your time. Decide what matters more: the treasure you might find or the treasure you might lose.”
He headed for the door. Paused with his hand on the handle.
“You know what I’ve learned in fifty years of marriage?” Abe said. “Sometimes the person who hurts you the most is the person who’s most scared of getting hurt. Maybe Grace needs to know that about you, that you’re as scared as she is.”
He walked out before Reese could respond.
Reese sat there, whiskey warming in his hand, staring at the leather folder on the coffee table.
The contract. The inn. Everything he’d come to Solace Springs to acquire.
All he had to do was sign. He knew it was over with Grace. So he couldn’t lose what he’d already lost.
He could own the property by next month. Have crews start excavating the cellar. Find out what his father had been looking for. Finally have answers to questions that had haunted him for years.
Reese picked up the contract. Opened it. Standard terms, like Abe had said. Fair price. Lower than he’d expected, actually. Possession in thirty days.
His hand reached for a pen.
Stopped as an image of Grace came to him, lying in bed with him. I forgot it could feel like that.
Reese set down the contract.
Picked up his phone.
His thumb hovered over her name.
What would he even say? Sorry I proved you right about everything?
Or maybe just: I miss you.
Simple. Honest. Terrifying.
Reese stared at the screen for a long moment.
No. It was too late. He could feel it in his bones.
He just needed to get out of here.
So he picked up his pen instead…