Page 58 of The Cinnamon Spice Inn (Maple Falls #1)
FIFTY-ONE
ZACH
Zach pushed open the wooden door to the Kettle and was greeted by the usual chorus of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. The tavern smelled like pizza, beer, and buffalo chicken wings.
Orange and black garlands were strung across the rafters, and a carved jack-o’-lantern glowed from behind the bar.
At least no one was dressed in Halloween costumes.
Not yet. He still had a handful of days until he could stay home with his porch light turned off.
He’d never been a big Halloween sort of guy—well, except for that one year when Madison had dressed up like a sexy witch.
He still remembered the fishnet stockings and purple velvet bodice she’d worn.
Come to think of it, everything that year had been pretty fantastic.
He scanned the room instinctively, hoping, stupidly, that Madison would be there. Maybe Kit had convinced her to come out after all and he could “casually” run into her, like a guy straight out of some rom-com, standing around at a dart tournament waiting for his maybe-girlfriend to show.
But he didn’t see her.
Zach claimed a stool at the bar and ordered a beer.
He took a drink and pretended to be interested in the bulletin board next to the register.
There was a signup sheet for the Halloween trunk or treating at the community center, a reminder for the annual chili cookoff, and info about next month’s seasonal craft club meeting.
It had something to do with snowmen, and it was meeting at the inn.
That damn inn.
He took a slow sip, chest tight, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him.
Behind him, Mr. Alders from the hardware store and Mayor Bloomfield were arguing good-naturedly about the best apple pie in town.
“Mrs. Bishop’s crust is pure magic,” Mr. Alders said.
“Ha! That’s because you haven’t tasted Edith’s. You missed it at the festival. Hands down, the best!” Hank replied with a wide grin.
The mayor turned to Zach to get him to weigh in.
“Don’t drag me into this.” Zach knew better than to pick a side.
Both men groaned with a “Bah!” and waved him off.
Zach smiled weakly, too caught up thinking about Madison. He’d texted her earlier, hoping they could meet up like they used to, when everything between them made sense.
But she hadn’t replied. She hadn’t even bothered to brush him off this time.
Zach hadn’t thought it was possible, but he felt even worse.
“You’re pathetic,” he mumbled, picking up and swirling his beer.
“She’s not here,” Liam said, coming up beside him with a dart in one hand and a beer in the other. “I already checked.”
Zach grunted. “Didn’t ask.”
“No, but you’re wearing that hopeful puppy look, so I figured.” Liam shrugged.
“Don’t you have a game to get back to?” Zach looked over his shoulder.
“Hey, Whitaker!” Kit called from across the room, her sleeves pushed up, dart in hand. “Thought you’d come crawling for a rematch.”
Zach let out a forced laugh and made his way over to where Kit and a few locals were forming a team. The table was crowded with pint glasses, appetizer plates, and the unmistakable scent of deep-fried everything.
“Rematch? That was pool, and I’m pretty sure we let you win last time,” Zach said, folding his arms beside her.
“Nuh-uh,” Kit replied, smirking. “Madison beat you fair and square.”
Zach nodded, trying to act casual. “Is she joining you tonight?” He kept his voice light.
Kit clicked her tongue, catching the subtext immediately. “Nope, said she was busy.”
Zach nodded too fast, pretending like it didn’t sting.
Kit’s expression softened. “You two on the outs?”
“Nah,” Zach lied. “Just… taking it slow, that’s all.”
Kit didn’t seem to believe him, but she let it go. “Well, if you get tired of brooding, we’ve got room on our team.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Zach returned to the bar and leaned against the counter as conversations buzzed around him. Kit laughed loudly across the room as Liam fumbled his next throw while someone at the next table argued about the merits of pumpkin beer versus hard cider.
Neither , Zach thought as he sat there, nursing his beer, scanning the door every time it creaked open, hoping Madison might still show up.
The room moved around him.
People laughed. Darts hit the corkboard. Drinks clinked. None of it reached him anymore. Zach was too twisted up in his own thoughts.
He stared into the beer glass, thinking about the way Madison had smiled at him just a few mornings ago, tangled up in the farmhouse sheets.
When Liam walked over, trying to get him to join the next round of darts, Zach just shook his head. “I’m good, man.”
Liam raised a brow but didn’t push.
Zach’s grip tightened on the glass as Liam walked away. He knew he couldn’t sit here pretending anymore.
Zach tossed enough cash on the bar to cover his drink and then some.
No more chasing , he told himself, stepping outside. No more waiting for texts, no more hoping for surprise visits. Why should he offer to move to New York when she wasn’t willing to even talk with him?
He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the cracked pavement ahead.
As the wind picked up and rustled the branches overhead, Zach made a decision. He was done. He’d bury himself in work—finish the farmhouse, fix every loose board, every crooked shutter. That, at least, was something he could control.
And maybe if he kept his head down long enough, he’d stop thinking about what he’d just lost.