Epilogue Grace
Epilogue
Grace
If someone had told Grace two months ago she’d be spending Christmas Day surrounded by half of Solace Springs, standing in the courtyard of an inn she owned, waiting for a billionaire to unearth his family’s long-lost treasure, she’d have suggested they lay off the mulled wine.
And yet, there she was.
Snow drifted across the island like icing sugar over cake. The inn—their inn—glowed with fairy lights strung along the eaves, wreaths on the doors, candles flickering in every window. The whole place smelled like pine needles and gingerbread and home.
Zach stood beside her, bundled in a ridiculous Christmas sweater covered in lights that Mabel had gifted him. He pretended to hate it, but Grace had caught him switching it on the second Reese looked away.
Reese.
He was at the center of the crowd, crouched by the area that had been dug up outside the tower.
Turned out he’d been right when he’d found that hatch in the tower the day they were trapped in there.
That was the way in. Except the hatch was sealed shut so they’d had to find a way to excavate outside it.
Reese was wearing a head flashlight and that familiar, maddening focus that made everyone else fade into the background.
His dirty-blond hair curled at the ends now, a little longer than usual.
He said it was because “island life” suited him.
He’d been splitting his time between the inn and the rest of the world. A few days away each month, meetings and deals and whatever mysterious things billionaires did when they weren’t rescuing eagles or starting community Christmas fairs. But he always came back. Always.
And that was enough.
The tower was their home now, private from the rest of the inn.
Zach had the annex to himself or “a totally separate residence” as Grace had overheard him describing it to his friends, even though it was now joined by a shared kitchen and living room.
Reese and Grace had the top floor of the tower, where the bedroom windows looked straight out across the lake.
At night the moon turned the water silver and every time she saw it she thought: We made it.
Luke elbowed Grace gently, breaking her reverie. “You ready for this, innkeeper?”
“Not remotely,” she said, laughing.
Margaret had insisted the whole town come out for the grand opening of the old cellar.
Abe had muttered something about liability forms, but he was grinning the entire time.
Sophie had brought a thermos of spiced hot chocolate.
Mabel had even made mince pies. Even Tressa had promised to sing once the “treasure” was found, assuming it wasn’t, as Abe suspected, just more broken bottles and spiders.
Reese straightened, brushing dust off his gloves. “All right,” he called out, voice carrying easily over the gathered crowd. “Moment of truth.”
He swung the flashlight beam down into the darkness. The faint glint of something metallic caught the light. A collective gasp rippled through the group.
He looked back at Grace, that crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Want to do the honors?”
She stepped forward, heart thudding. The wooden steps creaked under her boots as she followed him down into the cellar. The air was cool, still smelling faintly of earth and time. Reese knelt beside a patch of uneven stones, pried one up and together they brushed away years of dust.
Inside was a huge iron chest. Old, rusted, but intact.
The crowd above erupted in cheers as Luke and Jake came down, helping Reese lift the chest carefully out and set it on the ground. Reese met Grace’s eyes, green and bright in the dim light.
“You ready?” she whispered to him.
He smiled. “Always.”
The latch gave after a little effort, the lid creaking open to reveal—
Packets of sugar. Scores of them. Old paper wrappers stamped with curling letters and faded red print: Maple Sugar Co. 1857. Some were torn, spilling golden crystals that had hardened into amber lumps over time.
Reese blinked. “Sugar?”
Grace laughed, the sound bubbling up through the hush. “Looks like your ancestors had serious sweet tooths.”
Reese picked up a packet, brushing dirt from the ink.
It was bundled tight in crumbling waxed paper.
Through a tear in the wax, he could see amber-hued crystals spilling out and clumping in the damp earth, sweetened relics turned to stone.
“Sugar like this, it was trade back then,” he murmured.
“Power. Especially maple sugar, before cane became king. It kept towns alive through winters. Got shipped east for a premium. This was what my family was trying to keep hidden. What Odette’s family, the Lavoies, wanted to get their hands on. ”
“Not exactly the gold your dad was expecting,” Grace said. She turned a packet over in her hands, an idea sparking bright and unstoppable. “But still, it’s perfect.”
Reese frowned, amused. “Perfect for what? Making cakes? Sweetening tea?”
She looked up at him, smile wide and sure. “The Sugar Maple Inn,” she said. “That’s what we’ll call this place.”
The name hung in the air between them, as sweet and certain as the amber crystals scattered at their feet. Reese stared at her for a beat, then that slow grin spread across his face. The one that still did inconvenient things to her pulse.
“The Sugar Maple Inn?” he said.
Grace nodded. “It honors both families, the Spencers’ hidden treasure, the maples outside, everything this place was meant to be. Plus, it’s got a better ring to it than ‘The Place Where Grace Almost Bankrupted Herself.’ ”
He laughed, the sound echoing off the earthen walls. “Grace Sullivan, you’re brilliant.”
“You’re only just figuring that out now?”
Above them, the crowd had gone suspiciously quiet. Grace could practically feel them straining to eavesdrop. Luke’s voice drifted down: “Well? What’d you find?”
“Sugar!” he called up. “Maple sugar from the 1850s. A whole merchant’s stockpile worth a small fortune in its day.”
Three seconds of dead silence. Then Ella’s voice rang out: “Well, that’s going to make one hell of a display case at the museum.”
Laughter erupted above them. Grace felt Reese’s hand find hers in the half-dark, his fingers threading through hers with a familiarity that still caught her off guard sometimes.
She squeezed his hand, then let go to brush dust off her jeans.
“Come on. We should probably get back up there before everyone decides to come down and see for themselves.”
But she lingered a moment longer, looking around the earthen cellar that had kept its secret for over a century. The Sugar Maple Inn. It felt right…a name that wove together all the tangled threads of their story into something sweet and whole.
“Grace?” Reese was already halfway up the stairs, silhouetted against the light. “You coming?”
She smiled and followed him up, toward the warmth and noise and celebration waiting above.
Caleb rolled his eyes. “So you’re telling me I just helped dig up a root cellar full of glorified pancake topping?”
“Extremely valuable glorified pancake topping,” Reese corrected. “Back in the 1800s, anyway.”
“And it gave us the perfect name for the inn,” Grace said, raising her voice to be heard over the murmurs. “We’re calling it the Sugar Maple Inn.”
Silence fell. Then Mabel let out a delighted cackle. “Oh, that’s perfect. Sweet enough to give you cavities, just like young love.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Sophie sighed, clasping her hands together. “Like something out of a storybook. The Sugar Maple Inn. It sounds cozy and historic and—”
“Diabetic,” Luke interrupted, though he was grinning as he pulled Sophie close.
“You two realize every guest is going to expect complimentary maple syrup with everything now, right?” Jake said. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Probably on their pillows instead of mints.”
Abe stepped forward, studying them both with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. “The Sugar Maple Inn,” he repeated slowly, testing the words. He nodded once, decisive. “Suits the place. Suits you two, come to that.”
Margaret nodded. “Yes. Sweet with a bit of history, a little rough around the edges.” She paused.
“ ’Course, you know what this means, Highroller?” Luke said.
“What?” Reese asked warily.
“Logo’s gonna need a sugar maple leaf,” Luke said. “I know a guy who does custom metalwork. Could make you a nice sign for above the door. Won’t even charge you an arm and a leg. Maybe just a kidney.”
Grace laughed. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
When they climbed back into the courtyard, the snow had started falling harder, catching in Reese’s hair, melting against his cheeks.
Grace wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling him close and kissing him.
Zach rolled his eyes but he was grinning, and for once Grace didn’t care if the whole town was staring.
Because for the first time in a very long time, everything felt exactly as it should.
“You ready for our trip?” Reese murmured against her ear.
Grace nodded. “Zach’s already packed enough layers to survive an arctic apocalypse.”
“Yep, London is pretty cold this time of year.”
Grace leaned into him, watching the snow fall over their inn, their tower, their strange little island home and business. As the crowd began to disperse—heading inside for hot chocolate and the dubious eggnog Sophie had been threatening to make—Reese looked down at her.
“So,” he said, snowflakes catching in his hair. “How am I doing? Still gonna keep me around?”
“Not bad,” Grace allowed. “For a billionaire.”
“Former billionaire,” he joked. “I think I’m down to millionaire status after getting this place half renovated in two months.”
“Oh, how will you survive?”
“I’ll manage.”
He pressed his lips to hers and Zach made a gagging noise.
“Are you guys going to be gross?” Zach said. “Because I’m going inside if you are.”
“Go,” Grace and Reese said in unison.
Zach shook his head, a small smile on his face as he strolled off, his light-up sweater blinking through the snow.
Grace and Reese then kissed again: soft and sure and full of promise.
When they pulled apart, Grace looked up at the tower glowing behind them, at the island covered in white, at this impossible man who’d somehow become her person.
“You know the best part about us getting the tower all done in time for Christmas?” she said.
“What?”
“One of your presents is the American version of Monopoly so we can try that out in the tower later…for research purposes, obviously.”
Reese’s laugh was low and warm against her ear. “Grace Sullivan, are you propositioning me on Christmas Day within hearing distance of half the town?”
“Maybe I’m just really committed to understanding transatlantic property markets.”
He kissed her temple, still grinning. “I love you.”
She looked up at him, at this man who’d stopped running long enough to put down roots. Who’d chosen her, chosen them, chosen this. Who’d said those three words she’d never tire of hearing.
“I love you too,” she said back. “Even if you did try to demolish my dream.”
“Our dream,” he corrected softly. “And I’m never making that mistake again.”
As Grace pulled him toward the inn, toward warmth and family and the life they were building together, she thought about how treasures weren’t buried in cellars or hidden in towers.
Some treasures were found in the choosing, in the staying, in the building of something bigger than yourself with someone brave enough to try.
And this treasure was definitely worth keeping.