Page 49 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)

FORTY-TWO

ZACH

Madison sensed the storm before Zach did.

One moment they were lying blissfully on the blanket underneath the trees, Zach returning the favor, and the next Madison was scrambling for her sweater, her pants, trying to get dressed as quickly as possible.

Thunder rolled in seconds later, the sky flashing with light.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” Zach said, but Madison’s eyes were wide. When Zach looked into the depths of them, he saw nothing but fear.

“You don’t know that,” she said, shaking her head, panic in her voice. “You don’t know it’s not a tornado.”

Zach’s heart dropped. It had been so long since he’d seen her raw with fear. He knew storms triggered her. They were never just lightning and thunder. They were memories of the tornado they’d lived through as kids.

“Madison, listen to me,” he said, placing his arms on her shoulders. “Go inside. The farmhouse is safe. I’ll be right there. You trust me?”

She nodded reluctantly but didn’t move until Zach gently pressed his hand to the small of her back. “Go on, I promise,” he urged.

Madison finally took off while Zach quickly threw on his jeans, grabbed the blanket, used it to bundle up the dishes and the rest of the clothes, and ran after her.

The rain started coming down fast and hard before he made it inside. It came in sideways, in thick sheets, and the sky danced with lightning every few seconds.

Inside, Madison stood in the center of the living room, shaking uncontrollably. The wind howled against the windows, and the rain followed.

“Hey.” Zach framed her face with both hands, trying to ground her. “You’re here with me. There’s no funnel cloud, just some wind and rain. You’re safe.”

Outside, the thunder cracked, and Madison buried her face into his chest.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” she whispered. “It’s just… every time the thunder hits like that, I go right back there.”

“It’s not ridiculous.” Zach wrapped his arms tightly around her. “We lived through something terrifying.”

Madison let out a shaky breath. “And I still remember the sound. The trees snapping. The store shaking.”

Madison pulled back, eyes darting around the room like she was searching for trees about to crash through the ceiling.

“The trees are clear.” Zach moved and grabbed a thick blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. He wished like hell he had more furniture in the room. He hadn’t gotten around to it yet, but he would soon.

“Here, stand by the fire.” Zach had a couple of dry logs in the hearth and a pack of matches in the kitchen. Even though they didn’t need the fire for the temperature, he thought it might help calm her.

Madison sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I know I shouldn’t be but…”

“But you’re scared,” Zach finished softly.

Madison nodded.

“Don’t worry. Let me get the fire going, then I’ll sit right here with you.”

Zach prayed the old wood would catch. Once the kindling was lit, he ducked back into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of bourbon.

“Something for your nerves?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood. He pulled the cork out from the sphere-shaped bottle.

“Oh, the good stuff.” Madison smiled, reaching up to take the bottle. She downed a gulp without hesitation and didn’t even choke this time.

Zach took a sip and settled on the couch beside her, watching the flames lick up the logs. Madison shifted closer, burying herself into Zach’s side, her arms wrapping around his waist, her head resting against his chest.

“You’re okay,” Zach whispered, rubbing her back. His hand moved in slow circles, his thumb tracing the curves of her back, trying to comfort her.

“So… tell me about New York,” Zach asked. He felt Madison stiffen slightly against him.

“Why?”

“I’ve never been. Tell me what you love about it.”

Madison thought for a moment. “Well… it’s fast and exciting, and there are a million people. There’s always something to do, you know?” She hesitated, then added, “Jo is there, too, plus some of the best food in the world. Don’t tell Kit I said that.”

Zach chuckled. “Do you think I’d like it?”

He hoped if he kept her talking, she’d forget about the storm raging outside—and so far, it seemed to be working.

Madison tilted her head, considering. “Maybe not forever, but it’s a place you should experience even if just for a visit. It’s definitely not charming, cozy, or quiet. Not really your vibe. But you could probably charge a fortune as a contractor.”

“You’re right about that. Half the time, I don’t even charge anything.” Zach grinned.

“I know,” Madison teased. “What’s up with that? Mrs. Bishop said you fixed her shelf and she paid you in cookies.”

Zach shrugged. “A lot of people around here are on fixed incomes. Not a lot of money, not a lot of time. I’ve got enough of both. Seems like the right thing to do.”

They didn’t speak for a long moment.

“Do you ever miss the quiet?” Zach eventually asked, afraid of what her answer might be.

Madison stared at the storm outside. “More than I thought I would,” she confessed.

Zach told himself he’d think about that more later.

He didn’t admit it out loud, but he was surprised by how strong the storm had gotten and that it wasn’t letting up.

“Want to help me with something?” he asked, leaning back to look at her.

“Help you? With what?”

“My grandma used to say stirring was the best thing for a nervous heart.”

Madison raised a brow. “Stirring? Now?” She didn’t know where he was going with this.

He stood and offered her a hand. “Apple butter. It’s either that or I can offer you a round of bourbon strip poker. What’ll it be?”

She laughed and took his hand. “As tempting as the poker is, I’ve never made apple butter before.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. Right this way, then.”

The kitchen might have been in the middle of a renovation, but it was warm and smelled faintly of sawdust and whatever candle he’d lit earlier. A battered wooden crate of apples sat next to the back door, waiting.

Zach pulled it toward the makeshift kitchen table—a piece of plywood balancing on two sawhorses with two mismatched chairs tucked beneath it. He set out a cutting board, two paring knives, and his grandmother’s old stock pot.

“She always made a batch when she was worked up about something,” he said, pulling a mixing bowl from one of the storage boxes.

Madison stood across from him, rolling an apple across the table with her fingertips. “I knew I liked her.”

“She was a legend,” Zach agreed. “Not nearly as scary as people said. Unless you burned her biscuits.”

They peeled in silence for a bit, the soft scrape of the knife against the wood and the steady fall of rain outside the only sounds. Madison’s shoulders slowly dropped. Her breath evened out.

Good , Zach thought, watching her relax before him.

“You slice apples like a lumberjack,” she teased, watching Zach maneuver his knife with less than usual finesse, seeing he was so caught up in watching her.

Zach smirked. “And yet, somehow, it still turns out delicious.”

Once the apples were peeled and sliced, he dumped them into the pot, added a generous scoop of brown sugar, a heavy shake of cinnamon, and—because it was Zach—a big splash of bourbon.

“Was that… necessary?” Madison asked, raising a brow.

“Completely,” he said. “Family recipe.”

As the pot warmed on the stove, the scent started to spread. It was rich, warm, sweet, like fall had moved in and made itself at home.

Zach put Madison in charge. She stirred the butter slowly, leaning forward and breathing it in.

“This might be the coziest night of my life,” she said, resting the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, and she looked back up at him with a soft smile. Zach swore in that moment, the storm disappeared. It was just them. The steam rising. The quiet comfort of something simple and safe.

“Did you really used to make this with your grandma?” she asked, breaking the moment. She turned back and picked up the spoon again.

Zach nodded. “Every year. She’d bring out her big stock pot and say, ‘Fall isn’t here until the butter bubbles.’ I didn’t even know what that meant, but I believed her.”

They jarred the first batch while the second pot simmered, the lids popping as they cooled. Madison stole a spoonful before it was even fully set.

“Oh my God,” she said, licking her lips. “That’s incredible.”

Zach grinned. “Yeah?”

“Better than Gram’s jam. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Eventually, the storm let up, and the fog rolled in. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees, Zach was sure of it.

Madison looked up at him. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel okay during a storm again,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me.”

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek. He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything.

All he could do in that moment was pray. Pray that this time, she’d stay.