Page 33 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

TWENTY-SIX

ZACH

Zach stalked across the lobby, tools in hand, jaw clenched so tight he thought his molars might crack. He would’ve walked right off the inn’s property and never looked back if he hadn’t already agreed to the job. A job he planned to finish, no matter how much it killed him.

The air smelled like cinnamon rolls and fresh paint, and Zach wanted to escape it more than he’d ever wanted to escape anything in his life.

What the hell were you thinking? he bit out silently.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Madison again, he should have known better. It didn’t matter how many years had passed—she was still the same spark to his dry timber, and he was still the fool ready to burn for her.

He was a goddamn idiot.

“Zach, there you are, my boy.” George’s voice rang out as he stepped into the dining room, a half-eaten cinnamon roll in his hand. “How’s the work coming along?”

Zach clenched his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral.

“Dining room’s fine,” he said, his voice gruffer than intended. “Structurally, everything’s set. Just need to know if you want another coat of paint or if you’d rather finish it with knotty pine to match the rest of the place.”

George chewed thoughtfully, then grinned. “Well, now, that’s a Madison question.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we ask her ourselves? I saw her headed this way just now.”

Zach felt like he was in his own personal hell. His planned escape hadn’t gotten him very far.

“Morning, Maddie,” her father said with jolly good cheer. “Did you hear? Zach’s just about done with the dining room. He said something about pine or paint. What was it again there?”

Zach didn’t meet Madison’s eyes; instead, he answered her dad directly.

“Knotty pine. They sell it in planks in town. Thought it would be nice to tie in with the place.”

George raised his eyebrows at Madison. “What do you think?”

Zach risked a glance.

And—yeah. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

She stood stiffly, arms crossed over her chest, her expression tight. Those green eyes, usually sparkling with humor or mischief, were guarded now. Angry.

Good.

Let her be angry.

It couldn’t come close to whatever the hell he was feeling.

Because one look at her, and his body remembered every desperate kiss, every panting moan, every inch of skin he had tasted before reality had sucker-punched him.

It was her phone. A message he hadn’t meant to see but couldn’t unsee.

He hadn’t caught all of it, just enough to shatter him.

An image. Personal, private. Clearly sent to her by Jo. The guy from New York.

He hadn’t meant to look—but it didn’t matter. It was burned into his brain now.

And it ripped through him like a blade.

Because no matter how badly he wanted her, no matter how perfect she still felt in his arms, she wasn’t his. And he wasn’t the kind of man who stole another man’s girl, no matter how much it killed him.

Zach shoved the ache down. Buried it deep.

Hell, he hadn’t even meant to touch her, but all it took was five seconds in a dark space, their bodies pressed against each other, and all self-control in him snapped.

It was years of passion and longing, of remembering what it was like to be with her, to have her in his arms.

Being with Madison was a thirst he couldn’t quench. He’d drown before ever being satisfied, and it scared the hell out of him.

That alone should’ve been enough for him to step back, but it hadn’t been. He’d been seconds away from making her come and then burying himself inside of her. It would’ve been fast and hard, and just a taste of what he could give her.

If that text message had never come across, he would’ve had her come undone not once but twice in that pantry before carrying her off to the cabin to do it all over again. Slower this time. Painstakingly so until she melted beneath him.

That fucking text message.

And yet—she had let him touch her. She had kissed him back, like she felt it too.

Had she just been using him?

Madison had always been too bright, too big, and too much for this town. She had dreams, ambitions, and a life waiting for her in New York, and Zach knew exactly where that left him—in the rearview mirror, just like before.

“Sounds good,” Madison said shortly, bringing him back to the present. She looked around the dining room, not meeting his gaze. She was professional, distant.

Fine. Two could play that game.

“Great,” George said, clapping Zach on the back. “You two can sort out the details.”

Zach nodded once and turned to walk out of the room before Madison could say another word.

He needed air. He needed to remember who the hell he was. He was a professional, a man who kept his promises. He had a job to do—and he was going to do it. Even if it killed him.

Even if every single day spent working on this inn, with Madison right here, so close yet so far away, drove him completely out of his mind.

He was staying and finishing what he started.

But Jesus Christ…

How was he supposed to keep his hands off her now?