Page 1 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

ONE

MADISON

Madison Kelly squeezed her knees up tight to her chest. She could not believe what was happening to her.

Just this morning, she’d been rushing down her New York street with a croissant and a coffee, heading to a meeting.

Now she was back in her childhood home, the Cinnamon Spice Inn, with a mysterious letter under her pillow and a storm battering the windows.

The letter had arrived that morning. It was typed and unsigned, tucked in a worn envelope that looked like it had been carried around in someone’s pocket for weeks. She’d known it was important the moment she’d picked it up.

She’d opened the letter, mind racing, hands trembling, the earthy notes of sandalwood and vanilla clinging to the page, stirring a memory.

Madison,

The Cinnamon Spice Inn needs you.

Your dad needs you.

Can you come home? Just for a little while?

—A friend

It wasn’t from her dad; he’d never ask for help. And her maternal grandma, well, Gram had no problem telling Madison how it was.

Truthfully, it reminded her of her mother. But that was impossible. Her mom had been gone for the past three years.

It was a mystery. And Madison had a weakness for mysteries.

She loved a good puzzle, always had. Give her a locked-room murder, a crossword, or a half-finished recipe and she was in her element.

Her brain liked order. Solving things, fixing them.

So, as a secret mystery junkie with a competitive streak and a deeply unhealthy obsession with getting things right, well, she didn’t stand a chance.

She dropped everything and came back to the inn.

Back to Maple Falls. Back to the small lakeside town surrounded by forest-covered mountains and filled with quirky locals. Back to the place she had planned to never call home again.

Another crack of lightning flashed like a Polaroid, brightening her childhood bedroom. The Cinnamon Spice Inn seemed to groan as thunder followed, rattling the windowpanes.

Madison told herself to pull it together. She had survived NYC rush hour, disastrous first dates, and three chaotic wine-fueled Thanksgivings with her roommate, Jo. But nothing unraveled her quite like a Midwestern thunderstorm.

Only, it wasn’t just the storm. Madison had been nerved up since she’d arrived that evening.

The inn was in way worse shape than she’d expected.

Back in the office, she’d found receipts from two years ago, a water bill from last summer, and a handwritten note from someone named “Tim” about “fixing the soft serve machine.” She wasn’t even sure they owned a soft serve machine.

Then Gram had let it slip that the twelve-room inn was mostly vacant, with only one couple remaining. It was heartbreaking.

The Cinnamon Spice Inn had once been the perfect spot for a fall holiday.

Her childhood memories were full of the scent of her mom’s famous cinnamon rolls and the terrace covered in dried leaves.

The warm dining room with its vaulted ceiling and crackling fire.

Nobody could come here and not feel like they were being enclosed in a big, warm hug.

This was the place to curl up with a book and a coffee by the window, with a view of the gorgeous autumnal colors and the lake outside.

But now, it was clear her dad had stopped keeping up, and Madison’s to-do list was longer than a French tasting menu.

But she’d fix it, she would. She’d get things back on track, hire a manager, and be back in the city by November 1st.

She just had to tackle one problem at a time. Make a list, stick to it. Madison was fabulous with lists.

Another boom rattled the inn. This time, she jumped so hard she kicked the tartan blanket off the bed.

She crossed her arms tightly and admonished herself. “Madison, you are a grown woman. You can handle this.”

And she could. Now a popular food writer, she once rewrote a 1,200-word review of a Michelin-starred restaurant in twenty minutes flat after the editor changed the theme last minute from “culinary artistry” to “comfort food.” This, in comparison, was nothing.

Even so, ever since she was little, Madison had been terrified of storms. And this one was so unexpected because it was fall—October 11th. Severe storms weren’t normally a part of fall’s script in the Midwest. It was supposed to be the coziest, most peaceful time of year.

Madison sank back against the headboard and tried to ground herself. She remembered her mom comforting her in this very room, stroking her hair after a bad dream. She was the only one who knew what to say, how to calm her when her heart raced.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It would all be over soon—the storm, fixing the inn. Then she could go back to her normal life, being the strong, confident woman she knew she was. The woman her mom would be proud of.

CRACK!

The sound of splintering wood shot through the house, followed by a crashing boom. Madison threw the blanket aside and scrambled to her feet. She tugged on the nearest sweater—a cranberry knit—over her checked jammies and grabbed her phone for a light.

Madison’s thick wool socks slipped against the polished wood floor as she reached the top of the stairs and froze.

The dining room, her favorite part of the inn, usually known for its crackling fireplace and beautiful lake views, was destroyed.

The town’s oldest maple tree, the one that was the hallmark of the inn’s charm and a staple of Madison’s childhood, had come crashing down right through the heart of the inn.

Rain poured through a gaping hole, soaking the hardwood floor and the overturned furniture below.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Madison said with each step as she jogged down the stairs.

The maple tree had been the backdrop of every family photo. She’d posed in front of it on the first day of school every year without fail, her mom pinning a different bow in her hair.

Now it was firewood.

“Alright there, Maddie?” came her dad’s voice from the kitchen, lighthearted and entirely too calm for the occasion. His latest rescue, a puppy named Cocoa, was at his heels, barking in the darkness.

Madison turned toward the sound of his voice just in time to see George enter the room with a flashlight in one hand and, inexplicably, a cookie in the other.His striped pajamas were tucked into his slippers, and his gray hair stuck up in wild tufts.

“Well, I’ll be darned. Will you look at that?”He shined the light on the ceiling.

Cocoa continued to bark, chasing the beam of the flashlight, oblivious to the toppled tables and debris.

“Alright, now. I got you,” George said, scooping the puppy up. Cocoa was a small pup, weighing only a handful of pounds. She had a chocolate-coloredcurly coat and was wiggling all over, licking her dad’s face, looking for cookie crumbs.

George continued fussing with the puppy while water rained down inside. “You don’t like that storm, do ya? Madison is right there with you.” Her dad chuckled as another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.

“Dad, the roof,” she pleaded, fighting for George’s attention.

“Hmm?” He looked up from scratching Cocoa’s ears.

Madison rubbed her temples. “This is serious.”

“Yes, yes. Right. The roof.” He cleared his throat, looked around, and then took another bite of his cookie.

Madison grabbed the paper towels from behind the registration desk and started mopping, but it was pointless. Her socks were soaked in minutes.

“You’re alarmingly calm about all of this,” she told her dad.

“Well, no use panicking. That never patched a roof.”

Madison resisted the urge to throw her arms in the air.

“What time is it?” she asked aloud before glancing at her phone. “Two-oh-seven.Fantastic.”She blew out a breath. “Okay. It’s fine. I’ll find a tarp, a bucket?—”

George cut her off. “Don’t go worrying, Honey Pie. It’s not a big deal,” he added, waving a hand like this was nothing more than a loose doorknob.

“Not a—Dad! Half the roof is missing!”

He nodded. “My guy’ll fix it.”

“You… have a guy?”

“Yep. Good one, too.” He rocked back on his heels, looking quite pleased with himself. “Phone lines are down. I’ll go fetch him.”

“Fetch him? Now?” Madison grabbed his arm as he reached for his coat. “Dad, it’s the middle of the night. In a storm!”

“Stay here and keep an eye on things,” he said, handing Cocoa over.

“The storm’s about finished. Trust me. If your grandmother wakes up before I’m back, and I doubt she will, tell her I’m taking care of it.

” And with that, he patted Madison on the shoulder and was out the door, still in his pajamas, leaving Madison standing in the middle of a mess of fallen leaves and broken chunks of drywall.

Madison let out an audible groan and closed her eyes, which only made it easier to hear the rain dripping steadily from the ceiling. Cocoa whimpered in her arms.

“I’m sorry, little one. I guess I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.” She held Cocoa tight to her chest and kissed the pup on the top of the head. “This isn’t what we signed up for, huh?”

Madison willed away the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks and took a deep breath. She couldn’t just stand there and wait. A bucket and tarp would have to do.

“Okay. We’ve got this.” She pressed her cheek to Cocoa’s soft fur for one last second of comfort, then crossed the hall to the inn’s back office and gently placed the pup inside her crate with a fleece blanket.

In the lobby, Madison found an old raincoat in the front closet; it was stiff and yellow and had seen better days, like the rest of her dad’s wardrobe.

A pair of mud-caked boots sat below it and she carried them to the back door.

Her dad had been right. The storm was easing, but the rain was still falling steadily.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, giving herself a pep talk and stepping out into the rain.

In an instant, the wind blew her hood back, and rain pelted her face. Madison ducked her head and pulled the hood forward, but it was pointless, so instead of fighting with the raincoat, she made a run for the shed tucked along the back edge of the property.

The shed, like the rest of the inn, was well past its heyday. The white clapboard siding was supposed to match the inn, but the paint was peeling, and the hinges were practically rusted shut.

Madison’s hair was soaked by the time she finally pried the door open. It groaned loudly like a banshee wailing in the quiet of the night.

“Yep,” Madison muttered. “Definitely haunted.”

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the damp and musty space. “Lovely.”

The shed smelled of old wood, rusted metal, and motor oil.

Her phone’s flashlight lit up an assortment of forgotten tools, shelves full of cobwebs, and boxes stacked haphazardly in a corner.

Madison shivered, pulling the raincoat tighter like it might protect her from whatever might crawl out from behind a toolbox.

“Okay,” she whispered, glancing around. “We’re looking for one bucket and one tarp. Preferably not covered in spiders.”Madison hated spiders almost as much as she hated storms.

Focus, Madison .She searched through the clutter as quickly as possible. This was the kind of mess shehated. No labels.No order.No logic.

But still, her mom’s old gardening trowels were right where she’d always left them, hanging neatly on hooks just above the shelf. That tiny bit of order made something ache in her chest.

“I should’ve come home sooner,” she whispered.

But she hadn’t, and now the inn was falling apart.

She shook her head. Now was not the time to wallow. She had a roof to fix.

“Ah, there we go,” she said, reaching for a bucket. “Almost got it.” Her hand was on the bucket when she heard it—footsteps. She froze. There was no mistaking it. Someone was coming up behind her.

Madison quickly tapped off the phone’s flashlight app, plunging the shed into darkness, and set her phone down to look around for a weapon. It would’ve been easier to look for one with the light on, but she didn’t want the killer to know where she was hiding.

Not a killer. Or probably not.Nice Midwesterners didn’t normally kill people in sheds in the middle of the night.

Then again, it didn’t normally storm in the fall.

Madison fumbled for a rusted trowel hanging on the nail above her. It was dull from use, but it was better than nothing.

The door creaked open, and Madison held the trowel up against the side of her head, ready to strike. She prayed she wouldn’t have to use it, but desperate times and all.

She was greeted by a blinding, bright light.

“Mads? What the hell? You’re back?” The man’s voice was low and rough.

Madison stumbled back, the trowel clattering to the floor.

“Zach?” she breathed. Her stomach dipped, and her heart beat faster.

He stepped closer, the flashlight catching the rain dripping from his sandy hair and flannel shirt. His arms were crossed, his stance as steady and solid as she remembered.

It was him.

Her ex, her first love, her former best friend.

He was taller somehow. Broader.His jeans clung to his legs in a way that made her throat go dry. His eyes—deep hazel pools—held a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

Appalled? Annoyed? Both?

The rain intensified, drumming on the shed’s roof as her pulse hammered in her ears. Zach’s brow furrowed, his gaze unwavering, the tension between them thickening. His eyes lingered on her, searching, hungry.

For a heartbeat they simply stood there—two ghosts from the past. Madison felt a powerful urge to close the gap between them. Her breath hitched, a strange thrill rushing through her veins.

As Zach held her gaze, a smirk tugged at his lips and her heart lurched. She steeled herself, dug her nails into her palms.

She could not let her memories take over. She could not let the feelings in. She wasn’t the same girl who’d left Maple Falls all those years ago.

And yet, there was that magnetic pull deep in her chest.

A burning sensation.

Like she was a moth being drawn into the flames, ready to be set alight.