Chapter Forty-Two Grace
Forty-Two
Grace
“Grace Sullivan?”
“That’s me.”
“Sign here.”
Grace signed. Took the envelope. Closed the door.
Probably another bill. Electricity. Water. Or some exciting new bill she didn’t know existed yet. Maybe the town had invented a “your life is a disaster” tax and she owed back payments.
She sat on the couch and opened it.
Paused.
The letterhead was familiar.
Spencer Holdings International.
Grace’s heart stopped. Then started again at about twice its normal speed.
A letter? From Reese?
She almost threw it away. Almost ripped it up without reading it because what could he possibly have to say that would matter now? And on headed paper too, for God’s sake!
But her hands were already unfolding the paper. Her eyes already scanning the first line.
Grace,
I’m not good at this. Words. Apologies. Admitting when I’m wrong. But I’m going to try anyway because you deserve that much.
You were right about me. I came to Solace Springs for the inn. For what might be buried underneath it. For answers to questions about my dad that have cost me more time and money than I care to calculate.
But you were wrong about one thing.
I wasn’t using you.
I’m not going to claim it was love at first sight or fate or any of the bullshit people say when they’re trying to make something messy sound poetic.
What I will say is this: Somewhere between you dumping appetizers on me and me beating you at Monopoly, you became more important than the inn.
More important than the treasure. More important than being right.
You should have that place, Grace. You NEED it, not because you’re desperate or running out of options, but because you’ve earned it. Because you’ve spent fourteen years putting everyone else first and you deserve something that’s yours.
Most of all, though, that inn needs you. Needs your vision. Your passion. Your ability to see potential in broken things. It needs someone who’ll fill it with warmth instead of treating it like another line item in a portfolio.
So I bought it for you.
Before you throw this letter away—and I know you’re thinking about it—let me explain. I know you want to buy it yourself. I respect that. So here are the terms:
Interest-free loan. Thirty-year repayment schedule. You can pay it back at whatever pace works for you. If you want to make payments of five dollars a month, fine. If you want to pay it all back in five years, also fine. The property is yours. The deed will be in your name.
I don’t want to be your landlord or your business partner or anything else that gives me power over your dream. I just want you to have it.
Consider it an apology for walking away. For shutting down. For proving you right about rich men who can’t see past their own egos.
Or don’t. Consider it whatever you want.
But please, Grace. Take the inn. Build your dream. Show Solace Springs what I saw from the start. What you’re capable of.
You deserve this.
Reese, forever your WildTrailGuide
Grace read it twice. Then three times.
Her hands were shaking.
Her vision was blurring.
Oh God, she was crying. Actually crying. Tears dripping on to expensive letterhead and smudging the ink.
He’d bought her the inn.
Interest-free loan. Her name on the deed. No strings. No control. Just…giving her what she needed because he could.
No. Because he wanted to. Because…he felt something for her?
And the truth was, she didn’t want the inn without him.
Not really. Oh, she could run it. She had the vision, the plans, the sheer bloody-minded determination to make it work.
But it wouldn’t be right. Wouldn’t be what it could be because their two visions had tangled up together like the roots of those sugar maples on the island.
His conservation expertise and her hospitality heart.
His ability to see the big picture and her knack for the details that made people feel at home.
His resources and her relentless refusal to give up.
The inn needed both of them. She knew that now. Knew it in her bones the same way she knew Zach needed her, the same way she knew when the café was about to have a rush just by the feel of the morning air.
“You absolute idiot,” Grace whispered to the empty apartment. “You stupid, emotionally constipated idiot.”
She’d been so wrong about him.
Grace grabbed her phone. Pulled up his contact.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
What would she even say? Sorry I assumed the worst? Sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain? Sorry I’m an idiot who’s spent so long being left that I forgot how to recognize when someone was actually staying?
Or maybe just: Thank you. And I’m sorry. Fancy a game of Monopoly?
She pressed call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
“Dammit.” Grace tried again. Same result. She tried a third time, pacing across her tiny living room like a caged animal.
Nothing.
Think, Grace. Think.
She went to Reese’s business website and found the number of his snobby PA, Erika.
The phone rang twice before a crisp voice answered. “Erika Wei.”
“Erika, hi, it’s Grace Sullivan. I, erm, was in the tower with Reese. I need to talk to him. It’s urgent.”
“Ms. Sullivan.” Erika’s tone was professionally neutral, giving nothing away. “Mr. Spencer is currently en route to an airfield. His helicopter departs in approximately forty minutes.”
“Helicopter? Where’s he going?”
“Back to the Vancouver office. He has meetings scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. “I need to talk to him before he leaves.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Spencer left explicit instructions not to be disturbed—”
“Erika, please.”
There was a pause. Then, quietly: “Boeing Field. Private aviation terminal. Gate C. But, Ms. Sullivan? You’ll need to hurry.”
Grace was already running down the stairs. “Thank you!”
“MOM!” Grace shouted, bursting out onto the street where her mother’s ancient Subaru was parked at the curb, its faded green paint job and layer of autumn leaves giving it the appearance of a forest creature that had wandered into town.
Mabel was just getting out, arms full of grocery bags. “Grace? What on earth—”
“I need your car. Now. It’s an emergency.”
“An emergency? What kind of—”
“The romantic kind!” Grace was already wrestling the grocery bags from her mother’s arms. “I need to get to Boeing Field before Reese gets on a helicopter to Canada.”
Mabel’s eyes went wide. “He bought you the inn, didn’t he?”
“How did you—did everyone know before me?”
“Small town, darling!” Mabel tossed her the keys as she shoved the groceries back into the trunk. “You drive. Not sure I can cope with the nerves. But be careful with my car, she pulls to the left and the heat only works on the highest setting!”
Grace dove into the driver’s seat as her mom got into the passenger seat.
Grace paused. “Why are you here?”
“I’m your mother, that’s why. And this is my car.”
As she said that, Caleb came running down the street and threw himself into the backseat. “I’m coming with you!”
“Caleb, what the—”
“I just overheard it all. This is the most romantic thing that’s happened in Solace Springs since Mikkel proposed to me by the lake. I am NOT missing this.” He was already buckling up. “Drive, woman! Drive!”
Grace pulled away from the curb just as Zach came zooming up on his scooter, cutting right in front of them.
She slammed on the brakes. “ZACH!”
Her son yanked open the back door and threw his scooter in. “I heard you shouting about Reese. I’m coming. You might need this scooter.”
“Zach, you have homework—”
“MOM. I’m not missing this. Someone needs to film it for TikTok.”
“Absolutely not—”
“Too late, I’m in. GO!”
Grace hit the gas, the Subaru coughing to life like it was being personally offended by the request to move quickly. They made it half a block before she saw Sophie running down the sidewalk, waving her arms.
Grace stopped. Sophie yanked open the back door and squeezed in next to Zach as Zach placed his scooter on the floor.
“Abbey called me,” Sophie panted. “Said she could see from her apartment that you were doing something mental. Obviously I’m coming.”
“There’s no room!”
“There’s always room for true love!” Sophie was already wedged in, seat belt clicking. “Besides, you’ll need backup. What if he says no? What if he’s already moved on? What if—”
“SOPHIE.”
“Right, sorry. Positive thoughts only.”
Grace started the car again. “Mom, you’re doing forty in a fifty zone,” Zach said.
“This car can’t go faster than forty!”
“Yes it can!” Mabel said. “You just have to believe in her!”
Grace pressed harder on the gas. The Subaru shuddered, groaned, then lurched forward with surprising force. They careened through Solace Springs, past the lake, past everyone and everything Grace had ever known, heading for the highway.
“How much time do we have?” Grace asked.
Caleb checked his phone. “Thirty minutes.”
“We’re twenty-five minutes away,” Sophie said. “If there’s no traffic.”
“There’s ALWAYS traffic near Boeing Field!” Mabel said.
“POSITIVE THOUGHTS, PEOPLE!”
The Subaru rattled on to the highway, every piece of it protesting the speed. The check engine light flickered on. Something under the hood made a sound like a cat being strangled. Autumn leaves that had been stuck in the door frame went flying out the windows.
“Come on, baby,” Grace whispered to the car. “Just get me there. Please.”
As if in response, the Subaru gave one more violent shudder and then smoothed out, hitting sixty like she’d been saving it for just this moment.
Twenty minutes later, they screeched into Boeing Field’s private aviation terminal. Grace abandoned the car in what was probably not a parking spot. Definitely not a parking spot, actually, given the security guard already heading their way—and ran.
Her mother, Caleb, Sophie, and Zach were right behind her.
“Gate C!” Sophie yelled. “There!”
Grace burst through the doors into the private terminal. It was all glass and steel and quiet wealth, the kind of place where people didn’t run or shout or arrive in twenty-year-old Subarus covered in leaves.
And there, across the tarmac, was the helicopter.
And walking toward it in dark jeans and a brown leather jacket was Reese.
“REESE!” Grace shouted.
Nothing. The helicopter blades were already starting to turn, the noise drowning out everything else.
“REESE!” She ran toward the glass doors leading out to the tarmac, but they were locked. Security access only. “No no no NO—”
Grace took a deep breath, stuck the middle and forefinger of both hands into her mouth and let out a whistle so sharp and loud it could’ve shattered glass.
Everyone in the terminal froze. The security guards looked around, startled. Even the woman at the reception desk jumped.
And on the tarmac, Reese stopped walking.
He turned.
His eyes found Grace through the glass.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Grace’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might actually break through her ribs. Her hair was a mess, she was wearing jeans with a hole in the knee and an old sweater, and she was pretty sure she had mascara running down her face from crying earlier.
She’d never felt more exposed in her life.
Reese stared at her for one more second.
Then he started walking back.
Grace couldn’t breathe. She could only watch as Reese walked toward her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.