Page 43 of Heartland

There’s very little to it. These are the ingredients: goat's milk, sugar, vanilla, heat, and patience. Also stirring. So much stirring.

Stirring constantly, you heat everything to an average temperature of 248 degrees. Then you pour it out onto a buttered pan and chill it overnight. You can add a topping—sea salt or finely chopped nuts. But that's optional.

The only thing you can’t mess up is the temperature. If you heat it to less than 248, your caramels will be too soft to cut into squares. If you heat it too hot, your caramel will cool into something so hard it will pull out your teeth.

But here’s the tricky part—you can’t tell by looking at the caramel if the temperature is right. Precision matters, but the thermometer is your only guide.

It only took us one batch to get it right. That makes us experts in the simple art of caramel making.

But here’s one complication I didn’t anticipate: I'm in love with my business partner. I can't tell him, because he doesn't date, and he says he doesn’t believe in love.

Except sometimes I think he does. I'll catch him looking at me with a funny smile on his face. And I wonder what love looks like if not like standing around in the kitchen on a Friday night, stirring caramel and making silly jokes.

But I don’t say a word. There’s no gauge for this. No rule of thumb. I have plenty of “heat,” and lord knows I have patience. But if I pour my heart out in front of him, it would probably come to nothing.

Fifteen

Dylan

On Sunday morningI wake up with a splitting headache and the knowledge that I’m a goddamn moron.

I can’t believe I kissed Chastity. I mean—it was an honest mistake at first. But then I just went for it. I was drunk and horny and very willing to make bad choices.

Not with her, though. Never with her. She deserves so much more than a wasted guy pushing her up against the wall of an outdoor shower.

I don’t even get a chance to apologize. Leah drives her back to Burlington on Monday morning, because she was heading into the city for a doctor’s appointment.

Wednesday is our algebra day, though. So at least there’s that.

On Wednesday afternoon I’m buying a treat for Chastity at the bookstore—this time it’s a tiny box of two truffles from Lake Champlain Chocolates—when Rickie texts me.Chastity just called the house. She doesn’t need tutoring today.

Wait, what? That’s patently untrue. It’s going to take all we’ve got to get her through this class. That’s not mean; that’s just the truth.

Is she okay?I text back.

She sounded fine, he replies.Coffee shop with me instead?

Sure.Why not.

If I don’t have to coach Chastity in algebra, I might as well have cookies and gossip with Rickie.

The guy at the counter is waiting for me to hand over four dollars for the truffles in their tiny box. I give him the money and zip the box into a pocket of my book bag. I’m going to see Chastity soon, right?

I sure hope so. I hope I haven’t screwed up a really great friendship.

These are my thoughts as I walk to the coffee shop. I pull open the door and scan the room, looking for Rickie. He’s not here yet, and the good velvet sofa is taken by a couple of girls.

My gaze snags on a shiny head of hair bent over something on the coffee table. And I realize that the good velvet sofa has been taken by Chastity, of all people.

She doesn’t look up as I walk past on my way to the coffee line. She’s deep in conversation with another girl. This one is really young-looking, with braces and a girlish smile.

“That’s it!” Chastity’s friend exclaims. “Now reduce that fraction and you’ll have it done.”

I stiffen. They’re doing algebra. Without me.

The coffee line moves forward, and I stew on this while the barista makes change for my ten-dollar bill. I’ve beenreplaced. That’s what happens when you act like an asshole, I guess.

I don’t like it.