Page 47 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

FORTY

MADISON

“I’m going to pretend you’re dying to make a fall wreath and not just here to get the four-one-one on Mrs. C.’s letter,” Gram said, giving Madison a knowing look as they got out of the car in front of Mrs. Humphrey’s house.

“Of course,” Madison replied with a fake grin.

“Oh, you’re just as bad as Kit, pretending like she doesn’t want my shortbread recipe.” Gram leaned in and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m not giving it to her either.”

“You’re terrible,” Madison said with a smile. “But you’re right. It’s good to get out of the inn and out of my own head.”

“I imagine that boy has you turned every which way but up. Well… maybe a bit on your back, too.” Gram chuckled.

Madison’s face instantly flushed, thinking about their plans for tonight. Zach had invited her over for dinner at the farmhouse. She had all sorts of sexy ideas involving him and his tool belt, right there in the middle of his half-renovated kitchen.

Gram patted her hand. “Now, dear, there’s nothing wrong with a little hanky-panky. You and Zach love each other, I can see that well enough. And that’s all that matters. Maybe this time things will end up right.”

Madison wasn’t sure how, though, seeing as she still planned on heading back to New York on November 1st.

At least, she thought that’s what she was going to do. She’d been avoiding opening her work email, ignoring the growing pile of upcoming assignments. She had told her editor she was only taking three weeks off, and that time was almost up.

Madison soon had a decision to make, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Most of the time she tried not to think about it, much like her overflowing inbox. It’s not like she hadn’t been busy enough with the inn’s upcoming relaunch to keep her mind occupied.

The front porch steps creaked beneath their feet as they climbed them, crafting tote bags in tow.

Mrs. Humphrey’s front yard looked like a Halloween aisle had exploded at a home goods store.

While the front of Mrs. C.’s home was known for its ornamental gardens and beautiful blooms, every square foot of Mrs. Humphrey’s front yard was covered in decorations, including the porch rail, which was wrapped in orange and black garlands.

Ceramic pumpkins lined the steps, plastic bats dangled from the ceiling, and a skeleton wearing a witch’s hat sat on the porch swing, propped up by orange and black throw pillows.

“Well, there you two are, and just in time—the mulled wine is ready,” Mrs. Humphrey said, taking their canvas tote bags so they could take off their coats. She had a built-in coat rack in her entryway, where the other guests had already deposited their coats and shoes.

Her schnauzer came forward, sniffing everything: their shoes, coats, pants. He was dressed for Halloween with an orange plaid vest.

Madison bent low and gave him a couple of pats. The pup danced in circles around her feet.

“Don’t mind Charles; he’s very excited with all our guests today,” Mrs. Humphrey said as she led them down the hallway into her kitchen area. “Come along, Charles. Leave them be.”

Surprisingly, the dog did just that, trailing after Mrs. Humphrey happily.

Mrs. Humphrey’s kitchen, dining room, and living room were one long rectangle.

The dining room table had circular wicker wreaths set out at each place setting.

A handful of hot glue guns were plugged in on the center island, surrounded by bins and baskets filled with mini pinecones, wooden pumpkins, and spools of ribbon.

“I’ll just put those leaves here,” Mrs. Humphrey said, tipping the tote over into an oversized basket. The red, orange, and yellow leaves fluttered down. The woman gave the tote a shake to make sure every last one came out before folding the bag and setting it on the counter.

“Who wants some witch’s brew?” Mrs. C. called out. She ladled the steaming wine from the crockpot into mugs. “It’s my own special recipe—red wine, nutmeg, ginger, and apple juice.”

“You know I want some,” Mrs. Bishop declared from the dining table.

She’d been organizing the ribbon, barely looking up when Madison and Gram had entered.

“What do you think? Should I go with the striped orange and red ribbon or the glittery gold one?” She held two spools of ribbon up in the light, examining them.

“Or what about brown? It has some shine to it.” She picked up a third spool of satiny chocolate ribbon.

Mrs. C. handed Madison a steaming cup. “Don’t bother answering her. She’ll change her mind before you do.”

Madison smiled, accepting the cup.

“You’re right. I think I’ll go for the checkered print instead,” Mrs. Bishop said, selecting a thick cream and orange ribbon.

Mrs. C. raised her eyebrows as if to say, See?

Madison took a sip of the mulled wine. The warmth spread through her body, taking away the chill she hadn’t realized she’d carried in from outside.

At that moment, someone knocked at the door.

“Oh, that’s probably Cassidy,” Mrs. Humphrey said with excitement, hurrying over, Charles trotting close at her heels.

Madison turned to Gram, whispering, “Who’s Cassidy?”

“No idea, dear,” Gram replied cheerfully, reaching for a pumpkin cookie.

Before Madison could ask, Mrs. C. offered, “She’s new in town. I think she’s just passing through, but she looked so lonely at the bakery yesterday morning. Couldn’t not invite her, now could I?”

Mrs. Humphrey swung the door open, and sure enough, in stepped a young woman bundled in a yellow pea coat and a bright green knit beanie, her blonde hair braided in two long plaits down her back.

She carried an oversized canvas tote with a hand-painted sunflower on the front and wore a pair of thick red wool socks on her feet.

The woman looked unsure of herself, but she seemed to relax a little when she spotted Madison.

“Hi, I’m Madison,” she said, stepping forward to shake the woman’s hand.

“Hi, Cassidy.”

“And this is Madison’s grandmother, Edith—and you already know Mrs. C. and Mrs. Bishop. Rita from the chocolate shop will be here too.”

Cassidy smiled nervously and reached into her tote, pulling out a small tin.

“I brought truffles. I wasn’t sure if you needed anything, but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

Mrs. Humphrey wasted no time popping the lid off and inhaling deeply. A smile lit her face. “These smell heavenly. And plenty for everyone. Except for you, Charles,” she said, placing the tin on the counter next to the rest of the snacks. The dog looked up expectantly.

Mrs. Humphrey fetched him a treat out of a separate jar so the pup wouldn’t feel left out.

“You made these?” Madison asked, taking a bite and letting the chocolate melt in her mouth. She couldn’t describe it, but something about the chocolate reminded her of the city.

Cassidy grinned. “Yeah. I trained as a chocolatier in Paris before moving back to New York.”

Madison blinked. “Wait—New York? Whereabouts?”

“The Village,” Cassidy said, setting down her tote. “My brother and his husband run a patisserie on Bleecker Street. I worked there before… well, before deciding to find a new adventure.”

Madison’s jaw dropped. “No way. La Petite Chocolatine?”

Cassidy’s eyes widened in delight. “You know it?”

“I live two blocks over!” Madison said, laughing. “Their croissants kept me alive during my internship.”

Cassidy grinned. “That was mostly my brother’s doing. I specialized more in the chocolate side of things. Truffles. Caramels. Ganache, if the mood struck.”

Mrs. C. clapped her hands. “Well, isn’t that something? Small world after all.”

Just then, Rita bustled in, cheeks pink from the cold, shedding her jacket as she spoke.

“Sorry I’m late. Maple pecan emergency. Long story.”

She spotted Cassidy and smiled warmly.

“You must be Cassidy. Rita Matthews,” she said, offering a hand. “Owner of the Cocoa Corner.”

Cassidy shook it. “So nice to meet you. Everyone keeps saying I have to stop by your shop.”

Rita’s eyes twinkled. “And if you’re a chocolatier, you and I definitely need to talk.”

Cassidy laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I’d love that.”

The group got to work on their wreaths. As much as Madison wanted to talk to Mrs. C. about the letter, she didn’t want to ask in front of everyone. The fewer people who knew, the better.

“Well, isn’t that something?” Mrs. Bishop said, eyeing Madison’s wreath.

“Oh, it’s something alright,” Mrs. C. chuckled.

Madison frowned. Even she could admit her wreath looked more like something from The Nightmare Before Christmas than a festive fall decoration.

Cassidy’s wreath, on the other hand, looked like it belonged on the cover of a craft magazine.

Her bow was tied perfectly at the center, with looping ribbon and faux pumpkins placed just so.

Madison was convinced she could’ve sold it for a hundred bucks at any local craft fair.

Meanwhile, Madison was trying to peel her elbow off the table, realizing too late that a dollop of hot glue had dripped onto her sweater and hardened instantly.

She tugged at her sleeve, hoping it hadn’t left a mark on Mrs. Humphrey’s table.

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s glued themselves to the table,” Gram said with a sly smile.

Madison wished she’d kept that to herself.

“Better than setting your wreath on fire,” Mrs. C. chimed in.

“Fire?” Cassidy asked, rearranging her wooden pumpkins.

“I remember that!” Rita laughed. “Edith wasn’t paying attention to her ribbon, and someone had left a candle burning in the center of the table—you know, one of those big glass jar ones.

The ribbon tail caught, and the whole thing went up in smoke!

We ended up chucking it out the back door and hosing it down. ”

Madison glanced back at her own wreath. Surely it wasn’t that bad.

“So, you and Zach,” Mrs. Bishop said without warning.

“Who’s Zach?” Cassidy asked, adjusting her wreath.

“Madison’s ex-boyfriend, who she’s recently shacked back up with,” Mrs. C. said matter-of-factly.

“You want to watch out for these two,” Madison said, turning to Cassidy, who laughed. “Definitely don’t tell them anything about your love life. You could sneeze in someone’s direction and they’d be planning your wedding.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all just rooting for you,” Mrs. Humphrey called from the kitchen as she brought a fresh plate of warm pumpkin cookies to the table. She set Cassidy’s chocolates next to it.

As the afternoon wore on, Madison realized that while she had initially come over to learn about the letter, she now wasn’t in such a hurry to leave.

She liked being in Mrs. Humphrey’s kitchen, the scent of pumpkin cookies and mulled wine lingering in the air, the buzz of women laughing and teasing over their half-finished wreaths.

She liked the way Mrs. C. always had a quip ready, how Gram pretended to tsk, tsk at their comments, and how Mrs. Bishop kept sneaking truffles when she thought no one was looking.

For the first time in what felt like years, Madison wasn’t rushing to be anywhere else. She wasn’t refreshing her email. She wasn’t checking her phone. She was here.

She felt rooted. She felt at home.

When everyone was finishing up their wreaths and getting ready to head home, Madison took a moment to pull Mrs. C. aside in the corner of the kitchen.

“About that anonymous letter…” Madison left the sentence hanging.

“I have it in my purse. Let me grab it for you. Oh—” Mrs. C. paused mid-step and turned back to Madison. “Before I forget—Mayor Bloomfield got one, too. Poor guy went fishing just to avoid us nagging him about it.”

“Are you serious? Why?”

Mrs. C. shrugged. “Just found out about it yesterday at the bakery.”

“Do you know what it said?”

“I don’t. You’ll have to ask him yourself, dear. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”

Madison decided right then and there—she couldn’t track down the mayor fast enough.

She unfolded Mrs. C.’s letter, and read:

Mrs. C.,

The Cinnamon Spice Inn has always been a part of this town’s heart, just like you. George needs a bit of help now, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it. Please consider lending a hand with the gardens. You have such a talent for it. It would mean more than you know.

Sincerely,

—A friend

Madison’s throat tightened. The writing was careful, but there was warmth in it, too; again, it was like whoever wrote it genuinely cared about the inn, and about her father. Who were they?

She folded the letter back up and looked at Mrs. C., who was watching her closely. “And did you?”

Mrs. C. lifted her chin, eyes twinkling. “Weed the flower beds? Not yet. I told your dad I would stop by tomorrow.”

Madison could only hope she wouldn’t also try to persuade her dad to sell the place while she did.