Page 36 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

TWENTY-NINE

MADISON

Madison dropped another sandbag onto the corner of the pumpkin slingshot, dust puffing into the evening air. Across from her, Zach tightened a knot on the festival game posts, sleeves shoved up, forearms flexing with every tug of the rope.

They still hadn’t said much since leaving the café but the air between them crackled louder than any conversation.

Every time she turned, she caught the rough brush of his shoulder. Every time she knelt to adjust a weight, she felt his gaze flick toward her, and then away.

Mayor Bloomfield, or Hank as Gram called him, shuffled by, arms loaded with pumpkins for the slingshot. “Almost there, folks,” he said, whistling a little tune.

Madison gave a tight smile but she couldn’t relax.

Because even with Mayor Bloomfield’s easy chatter filling the air, she could still feel the tension humming under her skin.

She couldn’t shake the memory of Zach’s mouth on hers, the way he’d touched her like she was the only thing that could possibly matter, and the way he’d pulled away like it had meant nothing.

And still… here he was. Helping. Staying. Fighting for this town, for her family’s inn—even if he wouldn’t fight for their relationship.

She told herself she was grateful. She told herself she didn’t need anything more from him. And she nearly believed it. That was until he caught her eye over the edge of a hay bale, and for half a heartbeat, the whole world narrowed to just the two of them again.

It was a couple of hours later, after everyone had left, that Madison had a moment to herself.

Gram and Hank had stepped out for a nightcap, while Zach headed home, and Madison went downstairs and found her dad in the great room.

A fire was crackling in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows onto the carpet below.

George was sitting comfortably in his recliner, newspaper open, with Cocoa sleeping peacefully at his feet. It had been a moment since Madison had even seen her dad. He had taken revamping the fence to a whole new level, even installing new posts, which he had been busy painting the last few days.

“You’re not going out tonight?” George peered over the top of his paper.

“No, not tonight. I figure tomorrow will be busy enough. Best to call it an early night.”

George chuckled. “Tell that to your grandmother.”

Madison curled up on the couch, tucking her mother’s quilt around her legs, and reached for a mystery novel.

It was a new book. Something Gram had picked up thinking Madison would like it.

She’d bring it up to bed with her later.

“Have Gram and Mayor Bloomfield been dating long?” Madison asked casually, running her fingers along the front cover.

George folded the newspaper. “Here and there. He’s a fine fellow, and I know he makes her happy.

That’s all one can ask for, is it not?” George looked down at Cocoa and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Cocoa lifted her head and her tail thumped lazily before she got up and put her paws on George’s leg, begging to be lifted.

George obliged, and Cocoa tried to lick his chin before settling into his lap.

“I suppose tomorrow will be a big day. Things are going good, right?” George asked.

“I think they are. That is, if I can rein Kit in. She’s baked so many cinnamon rolls that we might be eating them for the rest of the week.”

That earned a chuckle from her dad.

“It’s odd, though, seeing the inn so quiet,” Madison added, taking in the empty space.

Even when she was a child, and they’d hang out in the great room, there were always people coming and going.

She would hear people walking down the halls, showers starting, muffled voices through the drywall.

That’s just what it was like growing up in an inn.

She had groups of friends that would come and go, people who would stay for a day or two, and then there were the regulars who came back year after year. It was a different way of growing up, but Madison wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit down for longer than ten minutes,” Madison joked.

George smiled softly. “Your mother always said I couldn’t sit still if my life depended on it.”

“That she did. I’d say you’re still that way.

” Madison thought back to how her dad would have a cup of coffee with Mr. Alders at the hardware store in the morning before moseying on down to the café or popping into the bakery.

Come to think of it, he knew just as much of what was going on in this town as Mrs. C.

and Mrs. Bishop combined. The only difference was her dad didn’t feel the need to share it all.

George looked down at Cocoa and patted her head absentmindedly.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you rescue Cocoa?” Madison had heard Gram’s side of the story about the letter, but she was interested to hear how her father would tell it.

“You know, it was the darndest thing. One day, I went out to fetch the paper, and there she was, tucked up in a basket with a letter.”

Madison still didn’t want to tell her dad about her own letter saying the inn needed help. She didn’t want him to think it was the only reason she had come home—even if it was true. And she knew its message would hurt his pride. Instead, she said, “A letter? Like an anonymous one?”

“It was typed up and everything.” George nodded, rocking back in the recliner a bit. “It asked me to take care of the pup. Said we both needed each other,” George said, looking down lovingly at Cocoa.

Madison frowned. “And it wasn’t signed?”

“’Fraid not,” George replied, continuing to rub Cocoa behind the ears.

“Whoever sent it was right. This pup here has been a blessing. Helps fill the quiet a bit.” George looked out the window at the vast expanse of the lake that was lost in the darkness.

“She’s made this place feel less empty since your mother passed. ” George’s voice was low, soft.

Madison’s throat tightened. Even though her dad was always socializing, always moseying about town, she realized for the first time how lonely he must be.

“Dad, have you ever thought about selling the inn?”

“Oh now, where is this coming from?” George seemed taken aback.

“Mrs. C. I told her we weren’t selling and that I was here to fix the inn up.” Madison left off the part about saying she would stay.

George gave her a long look, the kind only a father could give.

It was a look that saw more than she said aloud.

“Honey Pie, this inn is a part of our family. It’s more than a business.

” Her father smiled. “It’s where you learned to ride a bike in the lobby, where we celebrated every birthday, every holiday.

This is our home. Your home.” He made sure she heard the emphasis.

Madison sniffed, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks. “I think about Mom all the time,” she said thickly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come home, after.”

“Hush, dry up those tears,” George said gently.

“You shouldn’t have had to come home and bail me out.

I should’ve been able to handle it on my own.

But now that you’re here,” George said, clearing his throat, “I realize I needed more than just help running the place. I needed you, Honey Pie. I’m so glad you’ve come back, for however long. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Madison couldn’t stop the tears this time. “Thanks, Dad.”