Page 30 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

TWENTY-THREE

MADISON

That evening, Madison pulled her mom’s handwritten recipe for cinnamon rolls out of her beloved family recipe book for Kit to review.

The index card was yellowed from age, but her mom’s scripted writing was as elegant as Madison remembered it.

She didn’t need to look at the card for the recipe. Madison knew it by heart.

But still, she stared at it, her fingers tracing over the indentation of the ink as she pictured her mom writing out the recipe all those years ago.

“Mind if I take a picture of it?” Kit asked, taking out her phone.

“No, go for it. That’s probably the best way to do it.” There was no way Madison was lending the card out.

Kit skimmed over the recipe. “Buttermilk? No wonder they tasted so good.”

“Mmm-hmm, that and lots of butter.”

And before long, Madison was biting into her mom’s cinnamon roll for the first time in three years. The soft, yeasty roll, the layers of cinnamon sugar, the sweet, creamy icing. Tears instantly came to her eyes.

“I take it I nailed it?” Kit asked hopefully.

“This is heavenly. I honestly can’t thank you enough.” Madison grabbed a napkin and wiped away her tears before she completely lost it. Having her mom’s cinnamon rolls there, in her kitchen, made it feel like part of her was still alive with them.

“Should we try it with the apple butter, or no?” Kit held up a jar of Zach’s apple butter.

Madison nodded, wiping away her tears once more. “Sure,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to pull herself together.

Kit slathered on a thick slab of the butter right on top of the icing.

“Cheers,” Kit said, breaking the roll in two and handing half to Madison. The roll pulled apart easily, soft and pillowy, still warm from the oven.

Madison didn’t think they could’ve improved her mom’s recipe, but here she was, officially in pastry heaven. “This is so good,” she said, licking her fingers. It shouldn’t have worked—but it did. Just like the inn. Just like her and Zach.

“I think we have a winner,” Kit agreed.

In high spirits, Madison and Kit cleaned up the kitchen and took a bottle of red wine and some glasses down to the waterfront. The sweet, buttery scent of cinnamon still clung to their clothes, mixing with the brisk autumn breeze that rolled off the water.

The shoreline shimmered under the moonlight, silver ripples rolling in.

Madison pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders as they crossed the worn path leading to the firepit area.

Her boots crunched over stray acorns along the way.

Her dad had built up a fire, even though there weren’t any guests tonight.

Normally, she’d expect to see him and Gram out here, but the chairs sat empty, their usual mugs of tea nowhere in sight.

Madison’s gaze drifted past the fire toward the honeymoon cabin at the edge of the property. The windows were dark. Empty.

She exhaled, turning her focus back to Kit as she sat beside her.

“This is the life.” Kit sighed, taking a deep breath. “I mean, I thought I wanted to be in the city, but nothing beats this fresh air. Am I right?”

“It is nice,” Madison admitted, stretching her legs out toward the fire.

Kit squinted at her. “But?”

Madison exhaled, swirling the wine in her glass. “I don’t know anymore. Things in New York were fun and exciting, and I absolutely loved it.”

“Loved?” Kit pounced on the past tense.

Madison smirked. “Are you always this inquisitive?”

Kit beamed. “Always.”

“Jo is there,” Madison added as a matter of fact, as if that answered anything.

“Who’s Jo? Do we like him? Do we hate him? What’s the story there?”

Madison laughed. “Jo is my best friend. And he is a she.”

“Ooooh,” Kit said, dragging the sound out with interest.

“She basically took me under her wing when I moved there. I knew I wanted to be a food writer, but I didn’t have any connections.

Jo had already made it—she’d opened her own restaurant.

We met at a wine tasting, hit it off, and she put me in touch with the right people.

I wrote a few articles, and my career just… took off.”

Kit studied her. “You feel like you owe her?”

Madison shook her head. She knew that she and Jo would always be close, no matter where she lived.

“Not exactly. I felt like I belonged in New York with her. I love my job. But coming back home, seeing everything that needs to be done and remembering what it feels like to be here? It makes me feel… unsettled. Unsure. Life in New York can be a lot…”

Madison involuntarily looked back toward the cabin. She was instantly annoyed with herself. She hated how much space Zach took up in her mind—even when he wasn’t here. How just the memory of him leaning in close, voice low and teasing, could make her heart stutter.

It was ridiculous. She wasn’t some lovesick teenager anymore.

Kit took a sip of her wine, watching her over the rim of her glass. “Is there a special someone in New York you’re thinking about?”

“New York? No. Is there a special someone in Maple Falls you’re thinking about?”

Kit grinned. “The only thing that holds my heart is cheesecake.”

Madison laughed, but Kit wasn’t letting her off the hook.

“So, no one serious?” Kit pressed.

Madison hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve dated a few men in the city, but nothing’s ever lasted. I mean, they were… fine.”

Kit gave her a knowing look. “But something was always missing?”

Madison sighed, swirling her wine again. “Yeah, exactly. They were polished, successful. They had their careers together, knew who they were… but none of them ever made me feel the way?—”

She stopped herself, staring across the lake. The moonlight shimmered on the water’s glassy surface, too still, too revealing.

“… the way Zach made me feel.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The first time she’d ever admitted it—to herself or anyone else.

Kit grinned. “Honey, you’ve been comparing every man to Zach this whole time, haven’t you?”

Madison groaned, tipping her head back. “Apparently.”

Kit bumped her shoulder gently. “Hey, you’re talking to the queen of impossible standards. Try finding a woman who’s smart, can bake, likes horror movies, and understands the difference between a Cabernet and a Syrah in a town of fifteen hundred.”

Madison blinked, surprised—and then smiled, the pieces clicking into place. “You ever think about looking outside Maple Falls?”

Kit shrugged, playful but a little wistful. “Maybe someday. For now, I’m holding out hope that my soulmate is hiding in a corn maze somewhere, waiting for me to rescue her.”

Madison laughed, the sound bubbling up more easily this time. “Well, if anyone can find her, it’s you.”

Kit raised her glass. “To soulmates, wherever the hell they are.”

Madison looked back at the cabin once more. It was still dark. Still empty.

She told herself it was just nostalgia. Just the season. Just the magic of Maple Falls playing tricks on her.

But deep down, she knew better. Because no matter how much she tried to deny it, to stuff it down or pretend it didn’t exist, the truth was terrifying in its simplicity:

She still wanted him. And he still wanted her too.

She wanted her career. But she also wanted the only man who’d ever really had her heart.

Madison tipped her head back, watching a thin trail of smoke from the fire disappear into the vast, star-strewn sky.

“To impossible standards,” she whispered under her breath.

It would have been far too easy to finish off the bottle of Merlot by the fireside with Kit, letting the night and the wine take her thoughts away.

The air had turned cold, the kind of chill that hinted winter wasn’t far behind, and the lake glistened under a blanket of stars.

The fire crackled and popped beside them, keeping them warm as long as they stayed close.

Still, Madison knew there was too much work waiting for her at the inn the next day—too many lists, too many repairs, too much riding on getting everything right. So, instead, they called it an early night, and she headed inside.

Gram was in the great room, curled up in the recliner. Another fire crackled in the hearth, complementing the soft glow of the Tiffany lamps on the end tables. A plate of her famous shortbread cookies sat on the coffee table next to a pot of tea.

“Back early,” Gram said as Madison came in through the back door.

“Figured I should call it a night, especially with everything that needs to be done around here.”

“I hear you there. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. Shortbread?” Gram motioned toward the plate.

“Why not?” Madison reached for one and settled onto the couch. Gram’s shortbread was almost as famous as Madison’s mom’s cinnamon rolls. The only reason why it wasn’t was because Gram didn’t bake it for just anyone. The woman was rather particular with who she shared it with.

Madison munched on the buttery cookie and looked about the room. She stopped, taking in the patchwork quilt draped over the couch, and a wave of nostalgia hit her.

Her mother had made that quilt when Madison was a child. She still remembered helping to pin out the squares, lining them up just so. Madison hadn’t quite mastered it yet, but her mom had been patient—unlike Madison.

Madison reached for the quilt and curled up with it on the couch. She continued to look about the room. Her mother’s presence was everywhere—the old recipe books stacked on the shelf, the tea lights arranged on the fireplace mantel, even the rug beneath the coffee table.

“You look tired, Honey Pie,” Gram said softly.

Madison leaned her head back on the couch. “Maybe I am, just a bit.”

“You know, your mom loved this place,” Gram continued. “But she loved you more. You don’t have to fix everything on your own.”

Madison tried not to feel defensive, but she couldn’t help it.

“I want to do this, and I know I can.” Emotion built up in her chest. “You remember how great this place used to be, Gram. We had reservations booked months out, the dining room was always packed. It might’ve been small, but it was respected.

” She swallowed, her fingers gripping the quilt a little tighter.

“Now it feels like a ghost house. I want to see it thrive again.”

“Well, just don’t try to do too much on your own. Let us help you more, or we’ll find someone who can,” Gram gently urged.

Madison barely heard her. Her eyes had wandered out the back window, where she could see the cabin down by the lake. A light flicked on inside.

Zach was home.

Noticing a sparkle in Gram’s eye, Madison fought to change the subject.

She took a steadying breath and then said, “I got a letter.”

Gram looked up, her brow lifting. “A letter?”

Madison nodded. “Someone sent me a typed letter. It said the inn was in trouble. Asked me to come home. But there was no signature; I don’t know who sent it.”

Gram set her tea down carefully. “A typed letter? Well, you know that didn’t come from me. I hate computers. I’d have just picked up the phone and told you like it is.”

Madison let out a small laugh. “I know you would. So why didn’t you?”

Gram thought for a moment, then sighed. “I guess it’s one of those things…

You don’t realize how bad something’s gotten when it changes little by little each day.

” She took another sip of tea. “Whoever sent that letter did us all a favor. When you find out who it was, let me know—I’d like to send them a thank-you note. ”

“Don’t say anything to Dad, though, okay? About the letter. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Gram pursed her lips. Then, instead of answering, she asked, “Do you know how he rescued Cocoa?”

Madison frowned. “I assumed from a shelter?” Madison had stopped paying attention to where her dad picked up the animals from.

“That dog showed up in a crate on our porch,” Gram said with a nod. “And if I’m not mistaken, there was an anonymous letter with her too.”

Madison straightened, her mind running with the new information. “Wait—you think it’s connected? Could it have been Anita? Or Mayor Bloomfield? What about Mrs. Bishop? She seems to be in everyone’s business.”

Gram shook her head. “Now that, I don’t know. But it looks like this family has got itself a guardian angel.” She leaned back in her chair. “And we’d better do right by them and get this inn back in tip-top shape.”